MuvLuv: Comet
by Alastor Mobius Toth
Summary: A comet. Once associated with oncoming despair and misfortune. Then, as a beautiful herald of change. Will a small change in American policy lead to a different outcome for the world? Or will the effect be ultimately remain the same? Or will world fall to ruin? Total Eclipse AU.
1. Prologue Part 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Muv-Luv franchise in absolutely any way.

"_What have we become? I will not say who; that would be giving ourselves far too much credit, credit we do not deserve. This nation was founded on a principle: the principle of freedom. It was a dream of freedom for everyone – the right to feel happy, safe, to be free to pursue a different life from what ancient kings would force on others. And it was for this principle that our forefathers spilled their blood, hoping that it would light the fire of a new and beautiful nation!_

_But now, we have corrupted this nation in the name of our selfish interest and ignorance. We have abandoned the world – the world to which, as the most powerful nation of all, we have a duty to protect, when it itself cannot. _

_We have allowed millions to die, all to satisfy an interests of a narrow clique!_

_Never _before_ has there been a time where I was as disgusted from being born American as I am today, and it is my earnest wish that all sitting within this hall today will be remembered as the greatest _traitors_ to the human race forevermore." _

Senator Donnell H. Piecemann, D-Illinois, 1998, speaking in the aftermath of the official announcement by the Congress to unilaterally withdraw the United States Asian Military Mission from the protection of Japan.

"_General Bragg made his assumption – that BETA can be defeated conventionally within a decade of introduction of 2nd Generation TSFs - based on statistical assumptions regarding overall 2nd Generation TSF performance and the belief that the European Union, Soviet Union, Middle East and Asian fronts could sufficiently withstand the onslaught of the BETA independently. With respect, however, the 2nd Generation TSFs are hardly the war-winners the General envisioned. Furthermore, the assumption that remaining nations could resist the BETA, given the massive casualties they suffered in the opening phases of the invasion, was a gross miscalculation. It is clear that General's vision will not come to pass, partially because of our own policy of performing only surgical interventions that leave the bulk of fighting to otherwise overstretched and exhausted forces (…) As such, I must admit, that the current strategy espoused by the White House and the Pentagon does not reflect the actual military and political needs of this country, and as such, it should be adjusted with immediate effect, if America wishes to avoid what could potentially be the most devastating defeat in human history." _

Commander Mark Shepard, United States Navy, testifying before the United States Senate Committee on Armed Services, March 1997

"Now, this is an unusual sight."

The President of United States of America, Gregory W. Ashford paced around the plush carpet of the Oval Office. The two sofas that were lined up before his desk were now packed with two very different branches of government; one dressed in official military uniforms, and another in less descript, but still high-class civilian suits.

Both delegations also happened to be led by men famous for being polar opposites: the recently nominated Secretary of Defense, David Anderson, and longtime Director of Central Intelligence, Jack Harper. Both were possibly the other two most influential men in the United States at current time, above even Speaker of the House.

And both men agreed on the proposal they had just presented.

Truly, this was the End of Days.

"So, to summarize… you want to deploy our recently established Space Force into combat… expanding our already significant contribution to the war with BETA?"

"The Space Force, will not be deployed immediately, if you are concerned about political ramifications, Sir." Anderson, as usual, was the first to speak up. "Specifically, we're opting to activate our Orbital Diver initiative. Training men will take approximately a year, and most of the trainees will be selected from already accepted cadets, therefore no new draft incentives will be required."

"Aha. So we're letting the greenhorns take the blow this time?"

"If I may be so bold, Mr. President." Jack Harper was as direct as usual. He looked more like the CEO of a Fortune 500 than the largest collection of spies, assassins, saboteurs and unethical scientists in America. That look was deceiving; there were very good reasons why Ashford's Presidency had inherited Harper from previous administrations, not the least being right more often than everyone else. So when he decided to chide the less-then-popular POTUS, few eyebrows were raised. "America currently has the second largest military in the world. Third, if we acknowledge that the European Union has practically drafted every single citizen into the military. And while our troops are well prepared, taken as a whole, we have probably the least experienced army in the world."

President sighed. His day was getting better and better, and it was still only 10:00am. "Go on, Director."

"Our military has no experience against the BETA barring several squadrons in the Navy and Marine Corps. The failure of our missions in Asia, Europe and the Middle-East during 80s and the early part of this decade is a testament to this impotence. And even though we have learned lessons from these losses, the fact remains that the war is getting more desperate each year. America _will_ become a battlefield, a distinct possibility within our lifetimes, at which point our lack of experienced commanders and pilots will prove to be a critical oversight."

"If they could get close," one of presidential aides murmured, before being shot down with a glare.

"With all due respect to my military colleagues, and my friend here," Harper continued, "I do not believe our Navy is able to protect our coasts should the BETA arrive in force. The Royal Navy in England has already repeatedly failed to stop BETA from crossing the channel, which is the main reason why the EU continues to mount expeditions into the European mainland. And that is the situation under optimal conditions, with full U.N support and significant commitment from us… if either Europe or Asia falls, we estimate that America will be defeated within 12 months, give or take two."

"My God." President breathed, before turning to the Secretary of Defense. "And you agree with this?"

Anderson solemnly nodded. "I do Mister President. We are currently doing what we can, but our anti-BETA doctrine is grossly underdeveloped. The Marine veterans are needed to train Marine pilots, and can hardly be spared should we suddenly find the need to implement a widespread training program throughout the services."

The President sat down, turning to the window. The sun shone brightly above Washington D.C. The United States of America had remained prosperous. Free. Even with a massive immigrant issue and deep political divide, the country remained proud and powerful, but above all, free from BETA.

But all of this was owned to the sacrifice of American citizens on the Moon, the troops involved in the defense of first nations invaded, and to several million Canadians who perished in the aftermath of unilateral nuclear bombardment of Athabasca, after which Canada essentially ceased to exist as a political entity.

"So we're sitting on pillars of salt and a foundation of sand."

The military men briefly looked at each other, before Anderson spoke again. "Yes, Sir. The truth is, if we don't start to prepare our army now, we might never get the chance. Within the next few years, the situation _will_ become more dire, and we will be forced to act directly, regardless of political intentions. And once that happens, we will need pilots with experience in the war against the BETA. Top Gun and existing training programs simply aren't enough, because too many of them are based on theory and not facts; and we all know theory is proven wrong nine times out of ten. As my esteemed CIA colleague mentioned, we already have the means to fight. Now we must prepare for the inevitable time when we have to use them."

"How soon?" The President was not visibly agitated.

Admiral Charles Harlown, Director of the Pentagon's J-5 Strategic Plans and Policy Directorate, cleared his throat before taking up the question. "Our projections estimate that both the European Union and Far Eastern Alliance will be able to resist independently for just over a decade starting today. Assuming we regularly increase our commitment to UN missions, and deploy our army to full-scale war, this time frame can be extended by another 10 years. By combining our resources, we can continue to resist for another 10 years. In total, that gives us 30 years before human race is wiped out. After the 30 year mark, the sheer level attrition will render our military unable to continue combat. Industries will collapse due to lack of workers, and space habitable to humans will be lost at astounding pace."

"Is this… the worst-case scenario?"

"No Mr. President. It's the _best_-case scenario."

Someone from CIA delegation spoke next, after a discreet signal from Harper. "The Orbital Diver Initiative will help us prepare, and gain time to develop measures that may overcome this situation. However, we need to begin now. Furthermore, our increased commitment can be transmuted into political advantage – we will be doing what Manifesters have been asking for years, and gain additional sympathy from international community, however small. And the opposition will not be able to reason against the fact that we're already working with people and hardware that was meant to be employed overseas anyway, if in less-active capacity." The woman ignored the indignant and furious stares of the flag officers.

The President nodded, mulling his option. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen, that will be all then. I'll make the call."

The order to deploy the Orbital Diver Corps would be signed later that day.

And thus, the cogwheels of destiny began to turn.

"Well, what about him? Perfect scores, good attitude, responds well to discipline?"

* * *

Maciej "Matt" Krawski, former officer of the Polish People's Army, and currently commissioned officer of United States Space Combat Command and first-generation American citizen, grimaced at the file he was presented before taking it and tossing it at what the occupants of the room dubbed "the miscreants, whores and thieves Pile, to whom no Vote is given."

"I've read his Officer Qualification Jacket, Michael. He has no imagination and no apparent willpower, which is why he was never given squad leader position. Good for grunts, but that's not good enough for us."

With the Presidential order, the small Orbital Diver Corps was enlarged, and so began a scramble to find qualified personnel to fill all the new positions. While a separate department figured out who was meant to crew all the new flashy space shuttles, a unique group of the few veteran pilots, commissioned expats and instructors were busy to select nugget pilots that would be given the dubious honor of becoming the guinea pigs of Pentagon's latest pet project. Luckily, they were given access to all recruits from all services. Given time, they would eventually fill all vacancies. Unfortunately, that meant sorting. Lots and lots of sorting.

Maciej absently scratched his chin, before throwing away another file and pulling out the next one, throwing it onto several coffee tables arranged into a large impromptu conference desk. "How about this one?"

Michael took the dossier and begun reading through it.

"Bridges…Yuuya?" He furrowed his eyebrows. "He has a disciplinary record as long as from here to Yukon."

"He also has the highest scores in TSF piloting out of his class, and the highest mark in technical classes. And if you didn't notice, he is _still_ on the 'wanted-for-Top Gun' list."

"I'm not questioning his abilities, Matt. I question his ability to not beat his squad mates into pulp."

Matt sighed leaning back into his chair. "Look, so the guy has history of insubordination? Okay. Looking over the white, bourgeois officers that ran his academy and the plethora of 'real American badasses' of his teammates, whose dossiers I had the dubious pleasure of reading through, I can see where's that coming from."

"We're not here to fix the Army's attitude problem, no matter how I agree with you."

"He's Navy, actually. Look. My point is that despite all these black marks, he still wasn't thrown out, and moreover, he was put in for God-damned Top Gun. That's impressive. But above all, he hasn't _resigned_." He tapped the table for emphasis. "That takes _balls_. And this is _exactly_ what we need for this job."

"Alright, alright. I'm sold. I was just playing Devil's Advocate anyway." Michael grinned. "You know, the Top Gun guys will have a fit when they hear we're getting hands on their fresh meat."

"All the better. Plus, I'm a compulsive narcissist; the boy reminds me too much of myself when I was younger."

The two men shared a chuckle before Michael tossed the file onto increasingly bigger "approved" pile.

* * *

_One Year Later, Lower Earth Orbit, 7:38 AM, Greenwich Mean Time._

_"Three-zero seconds to separation." _

Second Lieutenant Yuuya Bridges, United States Space Force, gritted his teeth as several times normal G-force smashed into him as his "armored coffin" – a space to ground delivery TSF system - screamed through the stratosphere.

Even with sophisticated technology, the bipedal war machines that were the mainstay of the human race, the Tactical Surface Fighters, could not fully ignore the laws of gravity.

"Yo, Bridges." His wingmate, Max J. Grey grinned through the communication window.

"Fuck you." Any further argument was interrupted by their mission control's next transmission.

_"Ten seconds to separation! Five, four, three, two, one: separation! All pilots, prepare for manual control and descent!"_

The metal coffin around them parted as charges remotely blew off designated section of armor. Without them, the shell swiftly fell apart around them, and the two American F-15Es within swiftly fanned out into the sky.

"3000 meters, Bridges. Remember your training and you should be fine." In retrospect, Yuuya decided that he should have stayed with the Navy, instead of transferring his commission to the newly stood up Space Force. Yes, Navy definitely sounded better right now over the suicidal nutjobs of the Space Force. But it was no use crying over spilled milk.

Yuuya grunted as his machine rapidly plunged down into the atmosphere. Without its thrusters, a TSF had about as much mobility as a rock in the air. He prayed that the Laser-class would be satisfied with a tasty bit of heavy ead transport coffins than choosing his measly craft for grilling practice.

Bright beams of light cut next to him, Laser-class making their presence known.

_So they haven't taken the bait completely._

"Shit!" His companion cursed as if reading his thoughts. "We're still taking the goddamn Laser fire. All units be ready for emergency maneuvers."

Yuuya made another grunt as he fought with controls to shift his machine more to the right. Next to him, an unfortunate Eagle was turned into superheated ball of gas as it met an all too lucky laser blast.

_Reverse thrusters…1500 meters…I can probably go to 1200…then!_

"Dammit Bridges, you're going to smash into the ground!" Someone else yelled as machines slowly begun to activate their engines , giving their pilots a measured control over their descent.

"Not yet…not yet…Now! I got this!"

A pair of booster roared as they set for full power. The sudden reverse force jerked Yuuya's Strike Eagle, as machines rapid descent was temporarily halted. No sooner though, the boosters swiveled into their standard, "forward" position, and the Eagle begun to rapidly descend once more, narrowly flying past several beams of bright, deadly light.

_Here comes the hard part._

As the frozen, snow-covered ground raced beneath him, Yuuya braced himself, before opening air brakes on the left jump engine and cutting its power. Momentarily the machine swung 180 degrees, before he dialed the power back up, the thrusters beginning to slow the machine. In less than a minute, the Strike Eagle had slowed down sufficiently that the machine could have been safely landed on the ground.

"Not bad, Yuuya," His wingman laughed, slightly breathless from all the acceleration.

"And reckless as all hell," Their commander, a young but gifted officer named Sarah Williams growled. "You could have gotten killed _and_ thrown off course. And then killed."

"Sorry ma'am. Next time I'll tell Lasers to miss more clearly."

"We'll go over this after the mission. For now, all units, form up!"

As his teammates begun to assemble, Max smiled over the comms.

"Think of that in this way: You survived your first live combat drop while being shot at. That's worth a little scolding, isn't it?"

* * *

_(Several minutes later)_

"Approaching enemy vanguard. Visual detection on Destroyer-, Grappler-, and Tank-classes. Unable to determine exact numbers. ETA to effective firing range, 5 minutes".

The six TSFs from their division managed to land safely on the ground, compared to most other platoons that lost a unit in two in the drop itself. In general, that would constitute a very good drop – if only the Laser-class would not limit their entire aeronautical capacity to several meter hovering. But it would have to do.

"Acknowledged," Williams confirmed the report from fellow platoon, before turning to her own men. "We're taking sector Charlie-3. Destroyers coming in first. Take firing positions and hit them with armor-piercing sabot rounds. If we fail to destroy them all before they come into melee range, you're clear to evade at will. Otherwise switch to chainguns and eliminate the rest. Remember to not let those little red shits grab you. And no cowboying, Bridges."

Yuuya inwardly winced as he felt his commander's gaze focus on him over the comm.. "Yes ma'am."

The next four minutes dragged forever as Yuuya steadied his craft, kneeling it to get the best stabilization for its 120mm underbarrel guns. In the meantime, he and his squadmates could for the first time take a long look at live BETA.

And God, were they ugly.

Destroyers at least looked somewhat ridiculous with that green-purple carapaces and numerous hair-like antennae, but the Grapplers and Tanks looked outright repulsive. The first looked like a grotesque mixture of human and a crab at size of a house. Its four muscled legs gave it quick movement, while carapace-like claws and exoskeleton haphazardly growing out in some places of the body formed its main weapon. The most striking feature however was its "head" – a horrible looking, ugly parody of naked brain with a mouth, but no eyes or nose.

The Tank-classes were no better, their skin (or rather a pile of muscles) colored in angry bright red, bearing six horse-like legs arranged around a grotesquely large mouth. Despite somewhat silly look, its teeth were sharp enough to easily pierce through most modern composite armors. The horror show was completed by two sturdy hands and an oval head on elongated neck, with no mouth or nose, but seemingly countless eyes, in addition to the two that were positioned right where a human's should be.

Yuuya forced himself to look away from this freakshow, checking the distance on his HUD.

_Just a little more…little…c'mon you fuckers._

"Targets in range! Light 'em up!"

Almost immediately, Yuuya's targeting reticule burned bright red, and he squeezed the trigger.

Normally, a Destroyer's thick, frontal carapace made light of most modern weapons. Anything short of a rocket usually bounced off the darned thing. Even 120mm sabot shells with steel penetrators needed to be fired from the side. But then, mankind had the sense of innovation. With sufficient velocity, a depleted uranium-tipped projectile could smash through the armor. Designed originally with intent to take out tanks and bunkers, the 120mm projectile resembled more of an arrow than a bullet, with a sharpened tip, thin middle section and four X-positioned fins.

And at sufficient velocity, it had something to say about the Destroyer's concept of a "bulletproof head".

The round hit seconds after Yuuya pulled the trigger. Hitting millimeters from dead centre, the projectile cracked through armor, breaking into spinning trajectory as it massacred BETAs internal physiology before flying out through the unarmored back, smashing into the front of the BETA directly behind it. The first line of Destroyers was dead before they even realized it.

Not waiting to confirm his first hit, or even check on his squadmates, Yuuya picked another target and fired and fired again. Each shot hurled a depleted uranium arrow of death and anti-armor "Fuck You" at the vicious aliens, who didn't even bother to doge. As bodies littered the impromptu battlefield, Destroyers behind the main lines begun to ram into their dead comrades. Several of the lumbering creatures lurched up as they tried in vain to climb over their dead, their soft bellies turned into bloody fountains by opportunistic 36mm depleted uranium-tipped High Velocity Armor Piercing rounds.

It was a complete massacre, and yet the BETA continued to charge.

Yuuya grunted as he pulled his TSF into a standing position and begun to pull back along with his comrades. First slowly, then in a "jog", before finally powering his jump engines at low power and moving away at modest speed, just ahead of alien column.

He panted as he swapped another 120mm magazine into the magazine well of his Eagle's first AMWS-21 Assault Cannon system, or in layman's terms, the Assault Rifle system.

"Dammit!" Someone from an allied squadron shouted. "The Tanks and Grapplers are catching up to the Destroyers!"

Now comes the _other _hard part.

Almost subconsciously he deployed the second AMWS. While using two weapons was entirely possible for the arms, it was not normally encouraged by the US Army's manuals, as with only one arm to hold it, the AMWSs lost a lot on recoil control. However, in specific circumstances (such as this), having two rifles putting a less precise but higher volume of fire was more efficient then having a lower volume of precise fire from one rifle.

That, and as Space Force, Navy and the Marine Corps widely believed, most of the Army manuals were a load of bullshit anyway.

Two streams of tracer rounds chewed into the stream of BETA, followed by many more depleted uranium rounds in the wake of each tracer. The not-so-armored reinforcements promptly turned to paste. Dark red, purple, pink and even green fluids covered the snow.

But even then, they did not stop. The BETAs simply advanced, crawling over their own dead. They were like a tide, one that you could try and control, but it would always overflow your dams.

Yuuya inhaled sharply as he rapidly accelerated and climbed to stay ahead of a rapidly closing-in Destroyer, shooting it face-full of 120mm rounds for its troubles.

_Fuck! Why do they keep coming! Even an animal should learn to not stick a hand where it hurts!_

The increasingly high-pitched reports from his fellow pilots shared the sentiment.

"Carol, watch out!"

Yuuya rapidly turned towards one of his other teammates, Carol Simms. The young girl was one of the "high-scorers", straight from the elite American military academy at West Point, recruited directly to the Space Force on account of her sheer skills, professionalism, and attitude.

She was also one of the few people in the entire army that could honestly keep up with him, and didn't diss him just for having a Japanese dad.

"Don't worry about me," Her confident, if somewhat breathless voice called out.

"You shouldn't rush out like that." Yuuya chided her. "I don't want to get told off again when I have to solo dive and pull your ass out of the fire."

"Oh, then you should have minded the-" She smiled and…

And that was the last thing she ever did.

Her TSF exploded, scattering into million melted pieces and superheated gas.

"Six is down! Shit, no ejection!"

There was a commotion, over which their commander shouted something about "not jumping you morons!", but Yuuya kept staring at place where Carol's face was smiling just a moment ago over on the HUD.

No. No. No.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He wouldn't let his _comrades_ down. He wouldn't – he wouldn't allow for such a thing to happen. And he certainly wouldn't have failed as miserably as to let his friend get fried by a random Laser.

He wouldn't _abandon_ anyone.

Yuuya roared, and more BETA died.

* * *

_HMS Indomitable, off coast of Norway_

The cannons thundered, and missiles screamed as the Royal Navy continued to pound the coast of Norway in the most recent series of BETA thinning operations. Fearing that the concentration of BETA in the Scandinavian Peninsula would lend themselves to a new attempted BETA invasion of British Isles, the United Kingdom lobbied within the UN for a deep-strike mission to clear through groups of BETA rummaging through the former Norway and Sweden, before returning home.

And so for past several days, the Royal Navy, Royal Armoured Corps, UN Atlantic Army divisions and several American expeditionary units hammered BETA positions north of Sweden and south of Norway near Jutland into oblivion.

An old English Captain sighed as he observed the landing through his binoculars. The sky was black from the smoke of exploding rounds and rockets that were intercepted by those Laser-class monsters. Gone were the days where warships were the bane of coasts, capable of turning citadels into smoldering ruins.

Now, it was all a waste of shells and maneuvering fuel.

But the old sailor kept telling himself that this waste kept saving lives, because as long as Laser-class BETA kept shooting his shells, they wouldn't be firing on landing soldiers.

It still didn't make him feel any more useful.

He sighed again and turned to his bridge. These days most of it was automated – advanced machines that weren't thought possible in his day. They kept monitoring the status of his ship, other ships (if needed) and mapped the battlefield on one of those nearly magical computer projectors.

"How's the battle going, child?"

His aide, a pretty young lass, barely 20 years old, crisply saluted, and the old man died a little inside. He had a granddaughter who was older than this girl…how could he, and all his seniors allowed the situation to be deteriorate so badly that they were sending children into the most horrific war ever seen?

"Very well, sir. Marines have secured the landing points, and the RAF and UN forces have begun to advance. "

"Mmmm. And the Americans?"

"American 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 7th and 8th Orbital Diver Squadrons have reached the surface. They encountered BETA and began combat operations immediately; casualties are light so far, and they managed to advance further than we originally projected in the current time frame. They have also eliminated a number of small scale Laser-class groups."

"Jolly good then, isn't it? What about the Swedes?"

"Aye, sir. Swedish flagship communicated that despite earlier storms, they should arrive as planned to continue providing fire support. We have also received word that the Admiralty has seen it prudent to dispatch two more ammunition ships."

"That'll help, but they'll hardly change the outcome. Still, better than nothing. Keep me posted."

"Aye, sir."

**Prologue, Part-1 End.**


	2. The Lexicon

The Lexicon:

**Military Technologies**:

**AMWS: **a specific American jargon term that describes a common "assault rifle" – a long-range weapon meant to act as primary combat means for a TSF. Such rifle contains a 36mm chaingun sweeping weapon and usually a modular space for various attachments; the most common being 120mm gun and a barrel-extension module together with advanced suite of targeting computers meant to extend reach and firepower of 36mm rounds. Such rifles are a standard for all TSFs worldwide. Most also feature their own independent targeting systems that can be linked with fire-control system of "master" TSF.

**ATSF Program**: "Advanced Tactical Surface Program" was an American R&D effort to create a true 3rd Generation machine, starting in the late 80s. The program was inspired by predictions of then-influential General Ben Bragg, who predicted that with introduction of 2nd Generation TSFs, BETAs defeat via conventional means was possible within 2 decades. General argued that in the aftermath of such defeat, it was likely that remaining nations would then battle amongst each other to recover the G-Elements from Hive remains, as well as for other BETA-inspired technologies. Thus, the United States should prepare for the inevitability when its superiority would not be contested only by alien beings, but also by other terrestrial nations. As the result, the ATSF committee was formed, which drew-up a contest for "Next-generation machine, capable at very least of a superior performance in all fields compared to current-generation machines, with stealth capabilities". Two designs were proposed – the YF-22 "Raptor" by Lockweed Mardin, and YF-23 "Black Widow II" by Northrock. Both designs proved to be far beyond current-generation (to the point that initially the pilots had trouble reigning in the TSFs) and had superior combat capabilities, although the YF-23 proved to be marginally better, largely due to its novel close-combat focus. However, it was rejected, on the basis that it was too expensive to be feasible to mass-produce, and that YF-22's long-range combat approach made it easier to integrate into existing U.S combat doctrine. Sometime after projects completion, a note emerged in public press that implied that Raptor's selection was based on the fact that "it's stealth capacity was not only superior, but easier to utilize…". Since stealth is only effective against human opponents, this created an image of United States preparing to fight other nations without a care or consequence to BETA invasion, which sent ripples within international community. This is not accurate however, as the YF-23 posses the same stealth capacity as the Raptor, something that international public regularly forgets. Regardless, this made the ATSF a hot point for the debate regarding U.S international policy, especially as it becomes more and more apparent that Gen. Bragg's assessment has been proven false.

**Delivery Capsule:** Also known as "the Coffin", it is a delivery system meant to safely transport a TSF from outer space to Earth. The unit is composed of dense ceramic thermal armor and heavy lead internal armor. Both are meant to protect their cargo from heat of re-entry, but also Laser-class impacts and possible meteor impacts. The "coffins" also posses limited rocket propulsion for course correction and additional acceleration. Once they reach a pre-programmed attitude, shaped charges detonate given pieces of armor, allowing the capsule to swiftly fall apart. In a testament to tenacity of human engineering, even such "trash" has been carefully accounted for. Loaded with powerful, but otherwise simple electronic systems, the falling pieces of armor serve as a bait for possible Laser-class BETA. Their velocity while falling also makes them an incredibly potent kinetic-kill weapons.

**Destroyer-class BETA**: Known for its distinct front armor, which is capable of withstanding tremendous amount of damage. Piercing it with anything less than a 120mm tungsten penetration round necessitates repeated hits in exact same spot on the armor. The Destroyers form the vanguard of most BETA attacks, using their great speed and numbers to close in on enemies and protect the ranks behind them. They use their considerable momentum and armor to smash into the enemy, dealing massive damage. They posses two extra oval manipulators directly below front of their carapace, which can be used to pummel lying TSFs or smaller vehicles. However, the Destroyers lack any sort of back defense, and their unarmored hides can be easily pierced with 36mm shells. Their size and speed, coupled with rather poor detection capability makes their maneuvering exceptionally poor in anything by a frontal charge. Unfortunately, Destroyers are almost always followed by more agile Grapplers and Tanks.

**Falcate Sword**: The main melee halberd used by French armed forces TSFs. It is the longest weapon of its type within European arsenal (barring the Anti-fort Blades), which is ended in a unique, scythe-like tip, which enhances the weapons cutting and hacking capabilities. It's peculiar shape has given the rise to the famed "Sword of the Ripper" nickname that is all-time popular with French pilots.

**Fort-class BETA**: Towering at nearly 66 meters, the aptly-named Fort-class is the largest known form of BETA. Resembling a Hornet, the Fort traverses terrain on ten, long legs, each hard and strong enough to crush a TSF underneath it. Most of the creature is covered in hardy carapace that can withstand prolonged exposure to most "sweeper weapon" calibers; cannons of 100-or more millimeter diameter are recommended. Otherwise, it is possible to target thin space in between carapaces that are covered only by hardened muscles, however high-caliber weaponry is still recommended. Each Fort-class is mainly armed with a spike that can be launched at distance in whip like fashion. It can secrete potent acid that can easily dissolve TSF-grade armor. To top it off, A Fort-class can also carry smaller strains (like Tank-class, Laser-class or soldier classes) inside of it, to be deployed as needed, or to make for a nasty surprise for inexperienced pilots as they carelessly approach its corpse.

**FWS-G1 Assault Cannon**: The main weapon of French TSF force, the FWS is comparable to the European GWS-9 design, although it is somewhat more compact in its frame to make it more effective at close range. Like most assault rifles, it combines a sweeping properties of 36mm chaingun with another weapon, usually a 120mm cannon. The weapon was reportedly developed using the data obtained from America's own AMWS-21 model.

**G-Element**: Literally "Grey's Elements", this is a catch-them-all term for unique substances originally discovered within Athabasca Hive, and later within Yokohama Hive. Originally categorized by Doctor William Grey from Alamo Nuclear Institute, Grey Elements are highly exotic and toxic to human life. Their properties beyond that are not well understood – some G-Elements can manipulate gravity, others when subjected to electric current can increase or decrease mass, others subconduct in room temperature and there even exists one that has _negative mass._ How they are formed, or for what purpose remains unknows, as BETAs do not appear to be using them, and both seized Hives contained only trace amounts. Theories are abound that G-Elements may be some sort of BETA energy-production medium or by product of their life processes or energy consumption. It is obvious however, that whoever controls G-Elements, can gain a tremendous power…even if its poorly understood.

**Grappler-class BETA**: Standard close-range species, one of the most common. Posses a muscled, crab-like appearance with a head very similar to human head. It's main weapons are a set of claws made from incredibly dense carbons that can smash even very heavy uranium-laced armors. They can also absorb stray 36mm shots, though overall Grapplers lack armor protection. It's "head" is in fact a sensory unit, but it is not critical for BETAs functioning, and as such, headshots are not recommended.

**Heavy Laser-class BETA**: A large (21 meters tall) strain of BETA, widely considered to be one of the most dangerous enemies of mankind. Their heads contain one large eye, that is in fact a focal point for a powerful laser – incredibly coherent beam of light that is so powerful that it can burn through most conventional armors and other materials. The true strength of any laser-class however lies within their shocking accuracy and range – the BETA can his anything within 100km radius and within 500meter elevation. Their significantly more powerful beam however takes up more time to charge and reach full power while firing, which experienced pilots use to evade their fire. A "recharge" delay is about 36 seconds. The Heavy-laser class does not possess any significant armor, though its large bulk does posses some obstacle to 36mm rounds and knives – 120mm rounds and melee halberds are recommended for immediate kills. Like other laser strains, Heavy lasers are known to maintain a perfect, no-friendly-fire score.

**Hives**: Central structure from which BETAs spawn. A system of large, crystalline spire that can stretch several hundred meters above ground, and massive caverns that often stretch kilometers below it. The exact function of Hives is unknown, though they are largely considered to be BETAs sole command and control nodes and resupply points. Numbers of individual BETAs within a Hive is counted in millions. Forces attempting Hive infiltrations can expect at least 1 to 100 numbers disproportion. It is known that Hives contain powerful reactors. It is theorized that its destruction would render Hive inoperable or cause massive chain reaction that would destroy it and any surrounding BETA (and unfortunate soldiers who would not be able to exfiltrate in time.) Currently, there are 26 Hives located on Earth, 24 of which is located within confines of Eurasian landmass. Remaining two are located within Japan. 27th Hive – Athabasca Hive, was destroyed via saturated nuclear bombardment shortly after its arrival, when it had yet to deploy Laser-class BETA. To date, it is the only Hive destroyed. Hives are also classified into several different "Phases" that signify their size. Each higher phase means longer underground tunnels, more BETA and a bigger "Stab" (the crystalline sire). Following Phase 5, Hives gain the ability to launch objects in manner similar to Mass Drivers. It is currently unknown what the Hives are launching into space, although trajectories show these objects leaving the Sol System. It is likely that these may be proto-Hives that are meant to continue invasions elsewhere, or possible resource capsules.

As of the late 1999, a second Hive, located in Yokohama, Japan, has been destroyed. After intense, several-day battle by Japanese Imperial Forces and U.N Pacific Army Group, the Government of Japan has requested a deployment of G-bombs – a new American weapon developed from G-Elements – to the hive. Dropped from orbit by HSST Shuttle _Atlantis_, both bombs detonated above the Hive, completely destroying its stab and annihilating any BETA within. Following this- **[REDACTED. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION REQUESTED. AVAILABLE ONLY ON 'FOR EYES-ONLY' BASIS, CODE VIOLET TACIT.]**

**Hive Infiltration**: Operation designed to insert a group of TSFs into Hives, and systematically battle through waves of BETA into the central location of the Hive with objective to destroy massive reactors within. Widely regarded as most dangerous mission that can ever be issued to military personnel, they require massive diversionary battles and involvement of Orbital Divers to even succeed in getting to Hive itself, much less reaching its lower levels. To date, no Hive infiltration has succeeded. The only Hive destruction of Hive to date was achieved through nuclear saturation bombardment shortly after its landfall.

**Laser-class BETA**: Or simply "a Laser", these BETAs large, glassy eyes are in fact a focal mirrors of extremely power heat-and-energy beam weapon. The lasers posses a superior accuracy and range to almost any man-made weapon – anything within a 30km radius (and within a 10km elevation) is a fair game. With the laser's ability to perfectly track a target, and the inability of even advanced armors to withstand the beam for long, these BETA strains have long-since closed the skies for humanity. As an individual BETA strain, a basic Laser-class is somewhat vulnerable however – standing at 3 meters tall, they lack any armor or mass to slow down even a high-caliber hand-held rifles. However, they are fast-enough to follow with most smaller BETA classes, and their impressive range makes approaching them somewhat problematic. Their beams are considered somewhat less powerful than those of Heavy Laser-class, but can be fired only in 12 seconds.

**Melee halberd**: A common term for a "sword" or other longer-ranged melee weapon beyond knives. The halberds were originally designed by the Chinese, as it became apparent that in some situations, knives had too short of a range, and not enough cutting power to be effective. A melee halberd allows its user to keep some distance between an enemy and TSF, and can be struck with a greater force then a knife. However, it also requires more space to be carried. Although not requiring ammunition, intense usage does dull the blade or cause extensive internal stressing. As such, all modern melee halberds are equipped with sensors to measure its structural integrity. A halberd design is also differing based on a region – most EU nations uses a versatile "axe" design, while Soviets and the Chinese rely on a relatively heavy sword-type weapon. On the other hand, the Japanese have based their own melee halberds off the famed katana swords. America is the only major nation to not employ these weapons, barring several experimental models crafted for YF-23 design.

**Orbital Divers**: a specific branch of military, that focuses on direct Orbit-to-Surface TSF insertions. Orbital Divers are released in special capsules from Space Shuttles to descend into Earth's atmosphere, where after a point, the capsule falls apart, allowing the Divers TSF to maneuver and land safely. The Orbital Divers were originally developed by United Nations Armed Forces as means of Hive infiltration – the capsules were meant as much as to protect pilots from Lasers and atmosphere, as much as act as kinetic-kill weapons that would punch through the ground and open direct way for Divers into the Hive, saving the pilots a costly battle through entire length of caverns around it. Although ambitions, a pure Orbital Dive has never succeeded, on account of horrific numerical supremacy Diver pilots face within Hive itself. Regardless, Divers remain the most effective way of establishing beachheads within Hive's underground Halls. Some nations (like the United States), have also experimented with employing Orbital Divers as strategic rapid response force, meant to be deployed at backs of large BETA swarms on the surface as a support to spread-out groups.

**PB Knife**: Also known as a simple "knife" these are the main melee armaments of most TSFs. They have been directly derived from utility knife used by exoskeletons involved in space construction efforts. The weapons have since evolved into a "last-chance" melee weapon meant to save pilots from charging Tank-classes or other small-to-medium sized BETA strain. Although knives lack the range of melee halbers, they can be deployed quicker, take up less space, are lighter and cheaper to manufacture. Some TSF designs however, choose to eschew knives in place of "fixed" melee armaments, such as arm blades in European TSFs, or Soviet's own arm-mounted chainblades.

**Reinforcement Suits**: A highly advanced technology derived from 1960's space suits, these personal armors are a standard equipment for any surface pilot. In their basic form, the suit is composed of a hardened "exterior" on arms and vulnerable body parts, and an "internal" flexible material covering most of the torso and legs, that hardens upon impact or other external pressures. Additionally, a complete suit posses a strong neck brace to insulate pilots from high-G forces and a headset that is integrated with latest combat avionics – all headsets are capable of retinal projections from TSFs cameras allowing for screen-free cockpits, and can communicate with TSFs command systems within a 400 meter radius. In addition, they can record pilot's performance and compare it with older records, allowing for easy reconstruction of flight data and improvement on pilot's part. A reinforced suit is also equipped with a suite of systems meant to regulate pilot's life signs. Rather than use traditional harnesses, a pilot is kept is his seat by six restraining bolts – four on leg parts and two on arm sections. As a testament to their origins, a complete Reinforced Suit can sustain pilots life functions even in hostile conditions. It contains a 2-liter water pack, and an emergency system for purification of urine. It can also store up to 500 grams of excrements, although given that frontline synthetic food is designed for maximum digestibility and laced with drugs that suppress certain intestine functions, this is less of a problem. A fully powered-up suit can last for 12 hours, minimum operating mode can extend this to as much as 72 hours. The internal power source can be either manually replaced and recharged, or it can be plugged into a TSF seat – as long as TSFs power generator remains operational, the suit will draw power from it.

Most nations posses individual suit designs and color patterns (and sometimes these will even vary between individual squadrons), but most training suits are colored white with opaque reactive parts. On one hand, this allows to easily locate trainees in the field, and quickly locate any pressing, bleeding injuries. The color pattern also serves to break down most of the civilian inhibitions regarding privacy, as frontline rigors make no such distinctions.

**Tactical Surface Fighter**: A bi-pedal craft vaguely reminiscent of human shape, which serves as the mainstay of human military forces against the BETA advance. Usually shortened to TSF, their original purpose was to act as "walking tanks", though as technology and anti-BETA tactics developed, the focus shifted to more maneuverable crafts that focused on high firepower and omnidirectional movement capacity. The TSFs can move either via their legs, or through "booster engines" mounted at hips, that allow for limited aerial mobility. As such, TSFs have largely taken over the dormant niche of fighter crafts of older time periods. While forming the primary arm of any military, the TSFs commonly operate with other armored forces, sea assets and helicopters. A TSF pilot is generally titled as "Surface Pilot" or just "Pilot".

**Tank-class BETA**: A small-scale BETA strain. Noted for its six-legged appearance, bright red skin and massive mouth. The force that its muscles can exert are disproportionate to its size – and as such, the teeth can easily penetrate even tank or TSF armor. Between this, their overwhelming numbers and incredible speed on the battlefield, the Tank-class BETA are responsible for more pilot deaths then even Laser-class BETA. As such, more experienced pilots consider them priority targets. Although their skins poses no defense against TSF or vehicle-grade weaponry, most hand-held guns are only mildly effective against them. They are also known for emitting powerful sulphr odor.

**Thinning Operation**: Sometimes also called as a "raid" or "crowd control" such operation are made by nations on BETA frontlines into the areas that are believed to be a massing stages for BETA herds. Their aim is not to as much recapture territory as much as the destroy enough BETA to avoid potential territory invasion. Although costly, they are regarded by commanders and soldiers alike as a better alternative to otherwise costly and incredibly bloody defense battles against massed BETAs.

**Supply Container**: A large box that contains munitions, actual weapons or fuel, they are the primary means through which TSF pilots can resupply their crafts during prolonged operations. Normally, the containers can be space-dropped in same capsules as Orbital Diver's TSFs, and are equipped with rudimentary propulsion system to slow them down during descent. If necessary, most containers can also be towed by helicopters, although that generally requires lessening the container's mass, and as result, the available supplies. Although they can be easily destroyed, their cheap frame and ability to be deployed en masse to any battlefield more than makes up for it.

* * *

**Political**

**European Union**: expanded from original European Community after fall of most Warsaw Pact countries to BETA advance and uncertainty regarding American ability to uphold its NATO commitments. The EU is a qasi-federal system composed of most European nations (and elements of former Warsaw Pact countries after their official resignation from Warsaw Pact itself), it is responsible for defense of remaining European territories from BETA advance, and is also heavily involved in industrialization of Central Africa. The EU is largely dominated by United Kingdom, Republic of France, Federal Republic of Germany and Kingdom of Spain. Kingdom of Sweden, Swiss Confederation, Czechoslovakia, Restored Polish Commonwealth, Portugal and Italy are other influential members. The EU heavily co-operates with the UN in martial issues as well as transfer of refugees. Its technological levels is equal to that of United States, and its military prowess is considered likewise equal, if not greater.

**Far-Eastern Alliance**: A coalition of various colonial subjects and Empire of Japan itself. Established shortly prior to World War 2, it was allowed to continue after Japanese surrender, albeit with significantly increased member authority and heavily restricted military. After BETA invasion, the military limits were largely removed, and Far-Eastern Alliance remains one of the most martially-able superpowers. It has formed the COSEAN bloc within United Nations, afraid that their regional concerns might be ignored by American and European needs. However, with destruction of most Far-Eastern nations, Japan remains in principal the only still-powerful nation within this system.

**Manifests**: An impromptu term used to describe a specific, cross-party movement in the United States. Derived from the term "Manifest Destiny", Manifests believe that America should, as the most powerful nation, take a leading role in combating the BETA, and subsequently saving humanity. Although small, the movement has in recent days attracted some high-ranking officials within the White House. The movement is also at an all-time high within increasingly important refugee communities.

**Middle-Eastern Coalition**: A political alliance of several Middle-East nations that arose following a major BETA incursion into their spheres. The Union tries to co-ordinate their efforts against the BETA, though it is mired in internal struggle between several distinct factions, most prominent being the Iran-Syria axis and a more western-oriented Turkey block. Egypt is also an associated member, that also has a dual membership in African Union.

**Soviet Union**: A group of ostensibly Soviet republics ruled by a central Communist bureaucracy. One of key players of WWII, and main rival of capitalist United States after the War. One of the first nations to be invaded, the Soviet Union managed to fight off BETA for a time, first through sheer numbers of Red Army, and after elimination of its air forces through adoption and development of TSFs. It was eventually forced to deploy Weapons of Mass Destruction on its soil – which failed to stop BETA advance. After this, Soviets begun general retreat towards Asia, losing nearly all of Russia and disintegrating Soviet bloc in the process. Presently, most of reminder of Soviet forces are concentrated in Alaska, which was leased to Russians via a special agreement brokered by UN. It also controls a stretch of Siberia and Kamchatka, though these are mainly buffers between America and BETA-infested Asia.

**United Front of China**: A group that represents the remnants of original People's Liberation Army, and claims to be a natural continuation of People's Republic of China. Based formally on number of small islands (granted to it –over COSEAN objections- by the U.N), the UFC is tasked predominantly with maintaining a series of forward bases on Asian continent, as well as running continuous BETA thinning operations and containments. Given the extent of its armed forces (and massive losses to China's once monumental civilian populations) , it's frequently called "an army country". The UFC has historically maintained a very tense relations with Japan, which stretches back the WWII. Despite mediation by U.N, U.S and Soviet Union, neither factions seems to be getting closer to each other, and frequent historic revisions by both sides continue to be a major bone of contention, and rallying point for various extremist factions. Although acknowledged by Soviet Union, the UFC maintains more ambigious relationship with U.S, which has instead acknowledge Taiwan as legitimate continuation of Chinese government, even before BETA invasion; however that has not prevented American businesses and military observers from helping China in its own battle against BETA.

**United Nations**: an organization founded in the aftermath of Second World War and Atomic Bombing of Berlin. It was meant as a forum on which all nations could solve their issues without having to resort of war ever again. Ironically, in the aftermath of BETA invasion, the UN took a more martial role, first co-coordinating various national defense efforts, and as those efforts failed, it begun to integrate military blocks of various crumbling countries into its own structure. Today, the UN maintains the largest army in the world, responsible for containment of BETA around the world. It also continues to resolve various diplomatic issues, refugee problems and manages most of growing space industries. The higher-up levels of UN government had largely became autonomous, elected from inside of UN bureaucracy, although the UN Assembly continues to function, and is largely involved in most major decisions. The UN maintains two important command and control centers – the Assembly Building in New York, and the Citadel Space Station that serves as primary military command post.

* * *

**TSF designs**:

**American**:

**F-4 Phantom**:The "Grandfather of TSFs", Phantom was the first TSF design to be ever deployed. Originally following a "walking tank" doctrine, the development of booster-type jet engines allowed it a limited degree of flight capacity and nearly omnidirectional maneuverability. Although initial deployment of Phantoms largely ended in massacre (initial estimated time of pilot survival was around 8 minutes), the data obtained through these sacrifices allowed refiment of TSF design practices and combat tactics. The two newest models of Phantom, the F-4E and F-4N feature vastly improved internal components and more streamlined armor compared to previous models, as well as moderately advanced avionics and fire-control systems. These improvements have helped to maintain the machine's performance within 2nd Generation, despite the age of the construction. Licensed to several foreign nations, the Phantom's low price and ease of maintainability have ensured its continued use.

**F-5 Freedom Fighter**: Developed just after two years following deployment of Phantom, the Freedom Fighter represented a radical at the time design philosophy shift, focusing on higher maneuverability then endurance on which F-4 design was based. The machine was originally derived from Northrock's T-38 Talon trainer craft, which the U.S government was interested in repurposing into a full combat craft. While at the time U.S forces had no need for lightweight TSF, F-5 was easier to produce then F-4, and it was hoped that it would ease rather desperate demand problems for TSFs, with which American factories could not cope. Subsequently, F-5 design was rapidly licensed to foreign manufactures, as much from profit, as to improve warfront situation and make TSF supply chain more flexible. Despite possessing lower engine output and operational time than F-4, Freedom Fighter was decidedly more popular with Soviet and European troops, as its higher maneuverability proved to be a better advantage against BETA. Its low cost, ease of repair and modification has also made it a favorite of various foreign manufactures, and F-5 legacy is continued by a variety of models produced by Europe.

**F-5 E/F Tiger II**: The Tiger II was a significantly improved variant of original F-5, stemming from improvement in TSF manufacturing, technology and gathered military data. The machine features improved avionics, more powerful engines and improved detection capability, all while retaining the sturdy and cheap frame of the original. The machine was also the first Light-weight TSF widely employed by U.S forces. The E variant is a single-seat craft while G is a double-seater. Neither should also be confused with G-and E- variants of Freedom Fighter, which are coded designations for German and British variants of the craft.

**F-15C Eagle**: The Eagle was developed following rapid advancements in technology and tactics, made following the deployment of 1st Generation TSFs and initial successes in countering BETA advance. The Eagle emphasized the move away from "walking tanks" to more maneuverable design philosophy. The Eagle focused on high-powered maneuverability, forsaking heavy armor in favor of lighter composite alloys. The machines combination of speed, durability, ease of piloting and firepower has lent itself to labeling this TSF as the "strongest of 2nd Generation" – an apt name for successor of the Phantom. The unit has since then being widely adopted by both American and UN forces, and several distinct variants exist to fulfill more unique strategic criteria of different foreign nations. The C variant of Eagle is noted for using Pratts & Witney F-100-PW-100 jump jets, and overall has superior operation time compared to A variant. The American version is also equipped with improved detection systems and ECCM, in the event of having to fight human opponents. Unlike earlier Phantom model, the Eagle uses a unique knee block storage area that holds ammunition and close-combat knives. The back arms themselves are used solely for gun control.

**F-15E Strike Eagle**: Although visually identical to F-15C, the Strike Eagle is internally a whole new machine. Improvements to fire control, avionics, composite armor and engines give this craft nearly an incomparable performance against its older versions, bringing it fully within 2.5 Generation. It is widely perceived as the most powerful 2nd Generation derived machine, and is the standard TSF of American Army and Space Force. The UN Orbital detachment has also adopted this machine, and UN is mulling the option of replacing its aging F-15C fleet with Strike Eagles. F-15E is also notable for being able to purge its storage blocks, enhancing its overall performance (particularly in close-range dogfights) at the cost of its ammunition storages. Even despite being already active for last 20 years, the delay in introduction of 3rd Generation machines ensure continued market for this craft, and further upgrades are planned.

**F-22A Raptor EMD Phase-2**: A pre-production model of the Raptor craft, part of the so-called "Engineering and Manufacturing Development Phase 2". The Raptor is a top-notch, true 3rd Generation craft that employs Operation-By-Light avionics to give its pilots near immediate reaction time, while also possessing superior maneuverability and speed, along with significant stealth capacity to deter possible human opponents. This model posses a number of incremental updates from the original YF-22 prototype, including a better model of jump-jets (Pratts & Witney FE119-PW-100 from YFE119-PW-100), which also features and improved heat and noise dissipation to improve stealth capacity; the existing models have also been painted with unique, cobalt-based, radio-wave absorbing paint to the same affect. Unit's balance has also been improved, and the legs have been fine-tuned to create less noise and impact when travelling, making it harder to locate the Raptor via seismic detectors. In addition, the Raptor used the latest targeting computers and weapon-guidance OS, allowing for nearly flawless aim even during high-speed, high-G maneuvering. Six models are currently operational, four of which are part of the elite Infinity Squadron. It is likely that the finished product – further refined by Infinity's testing, will be no less impressive.

**YF-22 Raptor**: A prototype design that would later become renowned as the "Raptor", the YF-22 was one of the two prototype craft developed during the ATSF program. Designed by Lockweed with a substantial help from Boening, the craft represented the top achievements of the U.S TSF technology. Its unusual, angular profile was modeled to as much improve aerodynamics as to reflect radar waves, an integral component to its stealth capacity, that is further aided by the units extensive ECM systems and modified jump-jets exhausts to disperse the heat from them more effectively. The craft also used the latest Operation By Light avionics, which coupled with its advanced fire-control systems and amazing speed and maneuverability, allowed it outmatch any former generation machine. However, performance-wise, the unit proved the be somewhat inferior to its rival, the YF-23, coming in second in both anti-TSF combat and anti-BETA simulations. However, YF-22 proved to be both cheaper, as well as easier to integrate into existing U.S Army tactics, as it relied on same high long-ranged firepower concept as earlier machines compared to the YF-23s novel close-combat capacity. Nether the less, the selection of the Raptor has proven to be a highly controversial choice, and has been widely condemned by international community due to Raptor's apparent greater potential at combating human, rather than Alien, opponents.

**YF-23 Black Widow II**: Named after a famous twin-propeller aircraft fielded during the WWII, this craft represents Northrock's answer to the ATSF project. Profiled in a way to improve its aerodynamics as well as radar, the Black Widow II represented a unique approach to anti-TSF and anti-BETA tactics by the United States. Rather than rely on long-range firepower with a high degree of mobility, the Black Widow instead relies on overwhelming its opponents at close-to-middle range dogfights. Like Soviet or European crafts, the YF-23 features sharpened carbon vanes on its armor to improve melee capacity, and removed to original knee-block storage, placing the knife sheaths on unit's arms. In addition, the weapon arms have been modified to carry melee halberd-type weapon, the first American TSF in history to do so. Under normal circumstances, YF-23 possessed 4 combat arms, though two additional ones can be attached to units shoulder sections. Like the Raptor, it also uses shoulder-mounted exhausts to generate spontaneous "side" boosts, and employs latest Operation-By-Light avionics to grant its pilots the highest, nearly-human reaction time. Two models have been build, one called the PAV-1 "Spider" and PAV-2 "Gray Ghost", each equipped with different jump-jet model. Although the ATSF testing determined that both it and YF-22 had roughly equal stealth and combat capabilities, The Black Widows proved more capable in combat. In anti-BETA JIVES testing, their close-quarter focus gave them vital advantage, while stealth-based combat frequently turned to "knife fighting" ranges to counter the ECM distortions and inability to lock-on guns, which heavily favored the Black Widow. However, both YF-23 prototypes proved to be much more costly to maintain and produce than Lockweed's design, and had shorter operating time; furthermore, they represented a significant shift from acknowledged U.S doctrine and as result, the YF-23 was ultimately rejected. However, the informational leak that pointed out Black Widow II's superior anti-BETA capacity has made the decision highly controversial, particularly as certain units within U.S Military begun to doubt the effectiveness of current tactics and training.

**European**:

**F-5G/I/E Tornado**: Commonly known as Tornadoes, these machines are F-5 adopted and produced by various European manufacturers. The crafts posses a number of incremental upgrades over original F-5 design, including more powerful engines that help it in high-speed attack missions, and swing-wing mechanism that gives a modicurum of maneuverability at any speed. Each particular variant is chartering to the needs of particular army: E-variant is meant for the British, G-variant is employed by German Bundeswehr and I-variant is used by Italy. Although increasingly outdated, minor upgrades (particularly to avionics and detection mechanisms) keeps them combat-relevant. The British in particular make heavy use of Tornadoes, as evident in their various upgrade plans, such as the ADV variant.

**F-5F/Mirage III**: An F-5 variant licensed to the French Republic, in its attempt to jump-start their own TSF industries. The Mirage has been significantly upgraded from base F-5 design, including improved sensors, advanced communications matrix and most of all, improved close-combat handling. It also used unique at the time delta-wing configuration for its jump-jets.

**F-5E Tornado ADV**: An upgrade to existing Tornado, the Area Defense Variant is Britian's attempt to refurnish Tornado design for more straight-up combat duties and area defense against overwhelming BETA numbers. Improvements include further engine upgrades, addition of latest fire control mechanism, upgraded infrared sensors and addition of fixed melee weaponry on machines hand and leg parts. With increased operational time and combat capabilities, the Tornado ADV is fully capable of matching any 2nd Generation machine. The RAF is also investigating a possible carrier-based variant.

**EF-2000**: Known as the Eurofighter Typhoon, its development begun in 1978 following failure of Operation Palaiogolos that demonstrated number of shortcomings within then-current TSF generation. Subsequently the European Community members formed European Combat Tactical Surface Fighter program (ECTSF) to deal with the issue. In 1985, the goal of the program shifted to producing high-firepower, high-mobile TSF meant to Infiltrate Hives and deal with Laser-class BETA through high mobility, requirements not unlike those of American F-15. However, the project reached a snag when France withdrew from the project following disagreement over unit's jump-jets, and widespread deployment of F-15 put its existence into question. With rumors of potential exit by West Germany, the ECTSF shifted to creation of true 3rd generation machine in 1987; first combat-capable prototypes were deployed in 1994 as a means of displaying to ECTSF progress and keeping the EU from dissolving the project. The Typhoon is a high-maneuverability unit, that uses its considerable aeronautical instability to gain considerable maneuverability in close-combat. Advanced computer systems balance the craft while Operation-By-Light avionics give pilots unprecedented reaction time. The unit's armor is also equipped with super hard carbon blades through the body, which increase its melee and even function as a part of crafts control surfaces. It's combat arms can be also adapted to carry a wide array of weaponry, allowing the Typhoon to quickly adapt to any situation. Following field trials in 1995, the machine is slated to be widely deployed through EU and Atlantic U.N Army Group by 2000. Although predominantly meant to operate in Europe, some foreign nations have expressed interest in the machine; Japan in particular, whose combat doctrines remain very similar to European ones. However, different maintenance requirements compared to Japanese TSFs remain a barrier to adoption.

**JAS-39 Grippen**: A 3rd Generation TSF developed for the use by Kingdom of Sweden, The Gryphon is meant as direct replacement for JA-37 design – a multipurpose, maneuverable TSF. One of the basic requirements was that the craft could adopt to roles of Fighter , Attack or Reconnaissance (Jakt-Attack-Spanning) without having to return to base to rearm. As result, Grippen is equipped with latest-generation Operation-By-Light avionics and advanced sensors and fire-control systems that can be adopted to any weapon. Similary, JAS-39 can be equipped with practically everyone weapon in the European arsenals. With performance comparable to Typhoon or Rafale, while being cheaper to maintain, the Grippen became a staple craft of Swedish armed forces.

**Rafale**: The France's own 3rd Generation machine, Rafale was developed by Dass-ult company after France's withdrawal from ECTSF program over rejection of French-produced jump-jets, as well as overall disparity between the requirements of the French Army and other European forces. Despite being developed separately from Typhoon, the machine retains nearly the same profile, given that France employed same data in its creation as this ECTSF engineers. This also includes the weaponized super-hard carbon fixtures, such as the arm blades or shin armor. The unit also possesses same high-level performance, ensured by its advanced fire-control and early detection systems, as well as by France's own Operation-By-Light system. The Rafale is also a carrier-capable TSF, and its jump jets and several other parts can be folded for easier transportation. With relatively uneventful, bust fast R&D process, Dass-ult released Rafale in 1998. Since then, the unit has remained in use by several high-profile squadrons and the French Foreign Legion. Several African nations have also expressed their interest in purchasing the craft. It's name translates to as "Squall"

**Japanese**:

**Type-94 Shiranui**: Noted as the first "genuinely" native TSF design, the Shiranui arose as a lengthy R&D program by Japanese military industrial complex to create a next-generation TSF. By many, it is considered also as a first 3rd Generation craft, although this is based mostly on its impressive anti-BETA record than anything else. The Shiranui was built based off the Japanese export version of Eagle (the Type-98 Kagerou), and posses largely identical frame, although externally and internally many things were changed to adapt it to exact requirements but forth by Japanese military-intelligence community. The unit features improved communications and sensory suite (including lates-generation laser and seismic detectors). It also forsakes the brutal thrust of Eagle over more subtle measures – the Shiranui's designed boosters have smaller thrust and acceleration (which also makes them much more fuel-efficient), and compensate by making use of head mast arms as control surfaces. While this makes it deceptively difficult to pilot, a skilled user can use it to make Shiranui unbelievably maneuverable even in close-quarters. As it is meant to be a multi-purpose unit, the Type-94s OS can handle a variety of weapons ranging from PB knives and halberds to shields and missile containers. With unmatched mobility and avionics affording excellent reaction time, the Shiranuis were enthusiastically received and entered mass production in 1994. Unfortunately, with passage of time it became apparent that its exact "tailoring" to requirements set forth by Japanese military were also its greatest weakness – the Shiranui lacked any space for upgrades without a costly re-design, which effectively rendered it as a dead-end machine. With priorities for Imperial forces rapidly shifting, this eventuality had forced Japan to take rather drastic development measures.

**Type-00 Takemikazuchi**: The first "true" 3rd Generation machine created by Japanese industries, Type-00 was born out of the request of Imperial Royal Guards for a machine "equal, or superior to" the regular Army's Shiranui craft. After a lengthy development cycle through the 90s, in early 2000, first models were rolled off and pressed into service. The Takemikazuchi frame and exterior have been refined for maximum effectiveness and control; the unit posses considerably greater thrust then Shiranui, and can readily make use of it. The curved, seemingly decorative hull however is filled with first-contact weapon, including its weaponized feet, finger tips and hidden blades located on arm vanes (inspired by similar Soviet design practice), all which give the machine an edge in close-combat. The usage of latest Operation By Light avionics also ensures nearly immediate control and human-like precision over the machine, allowing a trained pilot to make the most out of Takemikazuchis omni-directional maneuverability. Additionally, advanced targeting OS allows for excellent aim and can be used for nearly every Japanese weapon, allowing Type-00s to be deployed to nearly any kind of mission. Truly, it is one-of-a-kind design that can be matched only by the latest in European, American and Soviet engineering. Despite its superior performance however, the mind-boggling cost of average unit, and complicated maintenance requirements have prevented Imperial Army from utilizing this craft; in addition with Japanese industrial capacity strained to the limit, it remains questionable if more than 30 of these crafts can be made in a year. Interestingly, the actual Takemikazuchi project is consistent of several differeing variants, meant to reflect their pilots standing within the Guards.

**-Type-00R** : "The" Takemikazuchi, this unit is the highest-performing within Japanese Armed Forces, and has been specifically designed "for Shogun's protection". Only several have been build, due to their staggering costs, and distributed between the Grand Shogun, and her relatives, many of which serve with distinction with Guard command. As such, the unit additionally poses a proprietary OS to maximize the usage of OBL, advanced battlefield awareness suite and highest-grade communication matrix, along with redundant power generator and reinforced joints and armor. As no camouflage has proven effective against BETA, Imperial Royal Guard machines are painted to quickly convey rank and be readily identifiable in battle; Shogun's personal machine is colored in deep purple with red details. The "Clan Leader" painting scheme consist of ultramarine blue with orange details. Unlike other combat machine, Type-00Rs posses a biometric lock on its controls, ensuring that they can be operated only by their high-ranking masters.

**-Type-00F**: A more common variant meant for field commanders, ranking retainers and distinguished aces, Type-00F is largely similar to R-version, although it does feature somewhat inferior communication and laser-detection systems, along with number of other internal components to reduce its price and maintenance. However, the unit still remains vastly superior to most regular Japanese TSFs. The standard color scheme in their case is bright red with blue details – color meant to convey a _Samurai_ rank, signifying ranking officer or particularly distinguished pilot in service of a lord. Most of such pilots are usual unit commanders. Other F-variant owners include _fudai _– a specific class of hereditary retainers sworn to noble houses of Japan as their protectors. These men and woman are mostly trained from birth as adept soldiers, and are expected to lead within Japanese society, as such, the Guard considers it prudent to provide them with "adequate" tools of war. Fudai units are colored yellow with purple details.

**-Type-00A**: A further downgraded Takemikazuchi version. Reductions to generator, lack of strengthened armor, joints and simpler communication systems ensure lower price and further reduced maintenance requirements, although the unit still retains superior performance to best of Imperial Army. It's color scheme is universally white with blue highlights. The Type-00A is issued mostly to officer pilots, most of which serve as members of larger groups, or in extreme cases lead small-scale units.

**-Type-00C**: The "lowest" variant of Takemikazuchi, many of its non-essential systems have been replaced with equivalents from Shiranui model to minimalize production and maintenance costs. However, it still displays at least over 20% better performance then Shiranui itself. C-variant is meant to be piloted by regular Guard members. As such, it lacks the same advance communication and control software as other versions. Consequently, it lacks the same horned helmet as other three variants. It's color scheme is grey with orange highlights.

_Author's note: Expect further updates as story proceeds. _


	3. Prologue Part 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Muv-Luv franchise in any way, shape or form.

_One Year Ago, Mojave Desert, United States of America_

_"Sierra Four has received critical damage. Power down boosters and cease all movements."_

"Shit! Someone cover this guy! I can't get a lock!"

Yuuya grunted as he pulled his F-15C Eagle in a tight turn before braking. The pursuing F-5E Tiger II overshot him, straight into his sights. A hail of paintballs promptly repainted it, but not to a degree that would have it marked as "destroyed". He yelled angrily, as his wingmate was nowhere to be found.

Wait, there he was: several meters behind, covering their flight lead. Although trying to might be a better term; The pair of F-5Es they tried to pin down swiftly dodged their shots in the open desert and promptly enveloped both machines in stream of blue paint.

_Fantastic_. _Now it's all up to me._

Yuuya grunted as he pushed the Flying Bricks of engines of his F-15C, to try and catch up to the leader of the aggressor flight, but his machine just couldn't keep up with the nimble F-5E. It wasn't even a case of clear mechanical superiority – despite being in an inferior TSF, the other pilot was simply better than Yuuya, and in case he made a mistake, or Yuuya gained a good angle on him, his wingmen were able to prevent Yuuya from exploiting that chance. After a ten-minute dogfight, Yuuya's machine was finally overwhelmed, receiving sufficient simulated damage to be considered "destroyed".

_Space Force training grounds, several minutes later._

"Good Job," Commander Shepard, their flight instructor, mockingly spoke. "You all just managed to die gloriously in combat. Your families and loved ones will soon be receiving a letter explaining how your noble sacrifice helped to protect this nation and save humanity. Now please explain to me what conspired to wipe out America's finest?"

"Sir!" Their flight leader, a young Navy Ensign by the name of Peterson spoke first. "Teamwork, Sir! Because we did not move together-" he looked pointedly at Yuuya as he said this "-we were turned into an easy target by a more organized force!"

Yuuya gritted his teeth. Now, this was too much. Sure, maybe he wouldn't win any "Teammate of the Month" awards, but it was not his fault that the man piloted his craft like an old cow. Sensing this, Shepard turned to him. "Thank you, Ensign Peterson. Ensign Bridges, do you have anything to say?"

For a moment, Yuuya thought about just letting it go. It was not the first time this happened. He could live with some extra sneers and cold shoulders for next few days. But seeing Peterson's smug face, Yuuya's mind was instantly made up. _Fuck this_.

"Yes sir." Yuuya's face was calm like a dead lake. "Ensign Peterson is correct that poor teamwork was the primary cause of Sierra Flight's defeat. However, Ensign Peterson forgot that this… disparity stemmed from some of the pilots' …inability to keep up with the rest of the flight. As result, we were not capable of attacking effectively – the advance element was frequently left without critical support, which made us easy pickings".

"You bastard!" Peterson sneered. "Are you implying-!?"

"ENOUGH!" Shepard's voice cut through the air like a steel whip. "If I want to hear something stupid, I'll ask you, Peterson."

The Ensign went immediately silent. Shepard waited a moment seeing if Yuuya would continue his rant; when he didn't, the senior pilot nodded, half to himself, sighed and spoke again.

"Well, you _are_ right, Ensign Bridges, but for the _wrong_ reasons. See, if you're just _that_ better than your teammates, you're supposed to be extra-careful to not run out on your own. This _will_ happen. And then you will be all alone, separated and then you _will die._ No exceptions. And at the same time, Ensign Peterson, if you know your teammates are _so_ much better then you and others in your flight, you _don't _let them run off, because you never know when you will need them!" Shepard paused, before shaking his head and continuing.

"The BETA do not give a rat's ass about your creed, about your race, beliefs, religion, tactics-"

"Sir…" Peterson did not seem to get the message, not realizing Shepherd's increasing sternness.

"Ensign, have you ever seen a Tank-class about to devour your friend? Have you? And that his only chance to live is to let his most hated enemy take a shot at it!? Well, HAVE YOU!?"

"N-no, Sir…"

"Then don't act like you have! And you, Bridges! On the frontlines, people who pull stunts like that are lucky to die in the first wave! What the press might have not told you is that the "heroes" always manage to die first. Listen. There is a time for heroics, and there are times when you shut up and fall in with the ranks. The best talent a soldier can have is not strength or knowledge – it is the ability to read the situation and know when each one is needed. Without that, you're nothing but sacks of meat. As long as you don't trust each other, don't read each other, don't know the situation, don't know when to act and when to not, you're _useless_. Got it?

The nugget pilots hastily nodded, cowed by the intensity of the normally affable Commander.

"Good. See to it that you remember that. Now get back into your machines. You're doing team firing exercises until supper."

* * *

_-Present Day, 15__th__ August 1999, Southern Norway._

"I'm ready," Yuuya spoke, as he finished the resupply routine of his Strike Eagle. His squadron was currently camping next to a "supply depot" - a term for an impromptu collection of supply containers dropped from orbit along with them. The containers contained copious amounts of fuel, ammunition and spare weaponry – in other words, anything that a surface pilot would need. They were also cheaper to build than resupply planes, and, provided that appropriate distraction was arranged, had larger chance of reaching their destination then a convoy of trucks or planes. To the Space Force, this kind of utility was simply invaluable, especially as they were meant to operate behind "enemy" lines.

"Alright," Williams spoke again, as the entire flight begun to call in their readiness. "We're proceeding with the plan. Approximately ten klicks North there's a significant group of Laser-class that's limiting both flight altitude and artillery cover. Our squad's objective is to eliminate any close-range strains that we may come across, while designated teams will target the Lasers. Any questions?"

_So we're the bait._

"Can we expect any support?" Someone asked.

"Negative. Artillery support is ineffective and friendlies are too far out. We have to do it ourselves. Also, keep in mind that not all Lasers may be watching the sky, so keep to the ground at all times. Move out!"

The next few minutes passed in tedious silence as their TSFs skimmed across uneven, hilly surface.

Until, eventually, their scouting unit called in.

"Th-this is Romeo One! We have positive confirmation of the objective! Uploading data!"

The lower right corner flashed a bit, and Yuuya pressed the corresponding control keys in the cockpit, after which his TSF synchronized with squadron's tactical network. After several seconds, the uplink came to life and a string of numbers flooded the screen, before being processed into a coherent, 3-dimensional map.

Yuuya froze. The map was red. It was a _sea_ of red – not individual dots that marked detected enemies, but a massive red blob that covered the terrain features. The seismic readings showed the same – a single massive wave from thousands upon thousands of feet, while thermal vision went completely bright at even small magnification. To put it simply, individual target identification was _not possible._

_It has to be a mistake_, Yuuya thought. Not even the wave they encountered, vastly bigger than anything they trained against, was this big.

"It can't be." He whispered.

"Damn right," someone else replied. "There's like a _billion_ of them down there. The sensors must be going crazy from cold or something."

"No," Williams cut in. "This is the reality of what you're facing… the true might of BETA!"

* * *

_-Same time, Eastern Flank of EU forces_

"Hyaaaah!"

Monica Giacosa shouted as she brought down her EF-2000's axe down on another Grappler. The blade chopped into the creature, splashing blood and other unidentified fluids as it died. Almost immediately a Tank-class lunged at her Typhoon, only to be smacked aside by its leg. The sheer weight, speed and sharpened armor crushed the creature, which fell like a puppet whose strings were cut.

"A far cry from Italy, isn't it?" One of her teammates bellowed.

"Hah….! All the more reason to live through this! I'm not dying before I see Siena again…!" Monica shouted, chopping another greedy Tank into two.

"Good to hear. It would be troubling if you would perish now, all things considered," her squadron leader, Hugh Winton spoke next. "Attention all Rain Dancers, we're shifting to sector Alpha-2. The Swedes need covering fire more than needed here."

"Bloody hell…" someone cursed. "This place won't hold out either if we leave. What the devil is the Navy doing?"

"Until Yanks clear out the Lasers, we'll have to substitute for naval gunfire," Hugh grimaced as he put down a Destroyer with a 120mm round.

"_Fantastic__!_"

* * *

_American Sector, primary target (Laser horde designated 1A)_

"T-this is Romeo Three! Commander's down, I can't- ARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

"S-Shit! Marks is down, I can't shake them…! Oh SHIIIIIIIIIIIIII-"

The curse was cut short by terrific sounds of ripped metal and muffled screams. Yuuya tried to block them out as he desperately dodged yet another Grappler, before peppering it with 36mm shells. Behind him, Max obliterated a score of Tank-classes with a concentrated volley from all four of his Strike Eagle's rifles.

"Fuck!" Yuuya shouted. "We're in deep."

"Neck-up," Max agreed calmly, before smashing aside a tank and crushing it under his feet. "But until Alpha and Omega squadrons can shoot down the Lasers, we'll have to keep up the dance."

"We'll get slaughtered, that's what!" Yuuya shouted again, before another Grappler charged him again. Yuuya dodged its claws, but not before one of them destroyed one of his rifles. Wordlessly yelling, he deployed the Combat Knife and slammed it into the Grappler, temporarily paralyzing it. In a few seconds, the creature was turned into paste by the Strike Eagle's rapidly deployed secondary rifle arms.

"We need to blow them off, make a path to the Lasers," Yuuya shouted over the roar around them.

"You got a plan?"

"We still have several mags of one twenty mike-mike high explosive rounds meant for general crowd control. If we fire them in rapid succession along the same line, we can draw a clear line of fire for both units."

"We don't have enough rounds on our own to do that, Bridges! And besides, if we leave this area, the BETAs will royally gang-fuck the rest of our team."

"We have to try!"

"No!" shouted Grey. "We have to _stay!_ Alpha and Omega are doing their jobs, let's focus on ours!"

Yuuya cursed loudly, before noticing a falling Strike Eagle being pushed down by a Destroyer. Taking aim, he fired off two 120mm high explosive rounds into its side, blowing the creature up and showering the unfortunate Strike Eagle in blood.

"I fucking hate you."

"You'll thank me later Bridges. You always do."

Sarah Williams yelled as she stabbed one of her knives into the Grappler over and over, before the lumbering creature finally fell dead. Boosting backwards, she easily bisected two Tanks before linking up with her target - a damaged Strike Eagle - and helping it up.

"On your feet pilot, get back in the rear and give us some covering fire!"

"Y-yes Ma'am!" A shrill, panicked feminine voiced answered her as the other unit raced backwards.

All around her, brutal dogfights for life were being waged. The sheer power of their TSFs and superior weaponry ensured that American pilots had the advantage, and yet…

And yet… they were being pushed back.

The ground was slowly being littered with Strike Eagle wrecks, as successive machines fell against lucky strikes, or were slowly ripped apart by hordes of Tank-class.

The pilots had the knowledge, but they lacked experience to use it.

Even so, Theta Squadron was not doing too badly. Especially Bridges – from what she could tell, the man was still holding their flank, and a small space around his TSF signature and the wave of red indicated he was doing a good job of keeping BETA at distance.

_If he lives long enough, he'll make flag rank for sure, Jap or no Jap._

But just how long could her subordinates last against this sort of opposition? There was a limit to how many bullets they had, and how much their rifle barrels could withstand before they began to melt.

"Theta squadron, fall back in R-Victory formation! We have to draw them away just a bit more!"

* * *

_Several kilometers away, same time._

"_Breath in. Breath out. Don't focus. Feel."_ Alice Neverine silently repeated her mantra as she tried not to focus on the screams of the dying around her. She tried not to feel the sweat of fear gathering on her neck or on her pitch-black hair. She survived the drop, she would survive this.

"They're pulling off!" someone shouted. "The BETAs around the target are deviating!"

"Don't shoot just yet!" Her commander barked. "Let them fall out more…more…more…not yet dammit…NOW! All units, fire at designated targets!"

Alice held her breath and pulled the trigger. Her Strike Eagle's rifles howled, and 120mm explosive shells raced from atop the ridge Alpha squadron was perched on, towards their targets: a large group of Laser-class and Heavy Laser-class BETA species. With their sight turned to the heavens, the cancerous creatures were blissfully unaware that they were denied their protection.

Alice watched with morbid fascination as the creatures exploded in a sea of fire, rocks, flesh and blood, their beams abruptly cutting off.

"All Alpha elements, this is Alpha One. Pick your targets and fire at will! Don't let them regroup!"

The lumbering Heavy Lasers attempted to turn and reorient towards those who would want them wiped out – but were not fast enough to stop a second wave of munitions that plowed into their ranks.

* * *

"Look! The Lasers are breaking up!" Max enthusiastically shouted as he dissected another Tank with his knife.

"About time too!" shouted a Theta Squadron pilot.

"Maybe now those bastards will fall back!" Another shout dwarfed by the roar of 36mm rounds.

But the BETA would not withdraw. They advanced almost relentlessly, like a massive tide swarming around a few poor defenders.

_"Attention, all American forces. Objective has been achieved, withdraw to earlier positions, I repeat, objective has been achieved, primary group of Laser-class is destroyed, withdraw to…"_

"I'd guess this is our cue ma'am," Yuuya joked over the comms, calling Williams.

"Astounding observation, Mr. Bridges," and for once, she went with the flow. "All remaining units! Formation Diamond-5! We're withdrawing to position Charlie-3! Stay together, on focus, on your individual fire lanes! Once we reach the designated point, find the closest supply container, reload your ammo and refuel. Change guns if you think your barrels won't hold up for longer; we're not out of this yet!"

She had no idea how true that was.

* * *

_American Resupply positions, several minutes later._

Alice breathed out a sigh of relief as Alpha Squadron closed in on their re-supply containers. If they could now only link up with the remaining European forces, they could surely win this-

"C-contact!" a panicked shout broke her out of her reverie. "Detecting multiple BETA around Sector Charlie!"

No way. No fucking way. It was just not possible.

"Fuck! What were the teams on the flank doing!?" Any further argument was broken up as one of the lead TSFs exploded in a bright beam of light.

"Lasers!" Alice shouted. "They have more Lasers!"

"Tch. They must have circled around from across the battlefield. There's no choice, we have to close in with remaining BETA!"

Alice though she misheard that. Close _in_? Did her commander wanted to get them all killed?

"BETAs never shoot each other!" Her commander momentarily clarified. "As long as you're in the vicinity of another BETA, the Lasers shouldn't fire!"

* * *

_HMS Indomitable, Flagship of Royal Navy's Task Force Aegis_

"We have a problem, sir."

The old captain lifted his eyes from latest munitions report back to his aide.

"What is it now?

"Sir, it appears that a major force of BETAs on the frontline have diverted towards the Americans. We have received the report that they are most likely engaging them now. "

The man narrowed his eyebrows as the tactical projector was updated. The large red blob that represented the main BETA horde now lacked a major portion in its Northeastern segment. Instead, it was separated from main horde by several kilometers, encroaching on small triangles that represented the American forces. Which meant…

"If the forces in sectors Bravo 2 and 3 can defeat current BETA concentrations, they will have a straight run for the target 1-B."

"Aye, sir."

"And the Americans?"

"Given their current odds? Impossible to assist, sir. Our forces on the ground will need this fire support if they are to breach the line and deal with other Lasers before the horde disperses and covers the gap."

The man sighed. "So, we're leaving them behind?"

"If our right flank advances quickly enough, they should be able to attack the BETA from behind and open a corridor for the Americans."

"Provided the Yanks will hold out that long, given their current numbers. Where are the Swedes?"

"The coast will not be in the range of their guns until 10 minutes."

"Tell that Swedish captain that I'll sink his measly boat myself if he's not here in five. And recommend to Command that at least some of our Eastern flank be committed to helping the Americans."

"Aye-aye, sir."

* * *

_Battlefield_

The BETA maneuver represented a chance – it unexpectedly left an open corridor of flight between a crumbling line and several battalions of TSFs. If they could break through fast enough, they could fly in unopposed and massacre the Laser-class, leaving the rest of the battle of the battleships.

But to do so would mean keeping Americans in place.

And most likely condemn them to death.

Yuuya grunted as he pushed off another Tank off his TSF, right under the barrel of his gun – before the gun clicked as empty. Cursing, he smashed the Tank underneath his foot before deploying the second knife.

They were outgunned, outmaneuvered and undersupplied. The sudden appearance of a BETA vanguard at their flanks turned the refuel trip into a panicked dogfight for survival, as unsuspecting squadrons ran straight into the claws of Grapplers and Destroyers.

"Dammit, Michaels!" Max yelled as their fellow pilot was knocked down by a Grappler. Yuuya immediately intercepted it, slashing it apart with multiple strokes, but the damage was done – a pair of mighty blows to the cockpit caused armored walls to buckle and shatter, turning the inside of cockpit into a shrapnel death trap. With pilot monitors deadly silent, Yuuya clicked his tongue before grabbing the fallen TSF's AMWS-21.

It was now him, Max and their squadron leader. And a trillion of pissed off BETA.

"We can't stay here," Captain Williams breathed, as BETA closed in on them. The lapse in concentration was fatal, as a Destroyer charged in straight at them. Although she fired her last sabot round at it, all she did was _kill_ it, but not _stop _it. The dead monster continued on its path from inertia and momentum, the carcass smashing into her TSF, both Yuuya and Max having only seconds to veer off before the dead BETA swallowed her.

"We have to keep moving!" Yuuya shouted.

"But where!?"

"The closest place with gunfire. We have to find rest of the allied units, or these fucks will eat us for lunch!"

"I think I know a place. Uploading coordinates. Let's roll."

* * *

Alice fumbled with her controls as she hastily reloaded the ammunition for her Strike Eagle. All around her people died as they tried to hold-off BETA from destroying the few precious supply containers that were left. They were all grouped on a nondescript hilly terrain, the snow and rocks on Norwegian soil giving way to blood-soaked slush mixed with jet fuel.

She watched with horror as a Strike Eagle in front of her was knocked down by a Grappler, before being pounced upon by multiple Tanks. Screaming, she deployed her rifle, gunning them down – but she failed to notice a second Grappler just to the right. The creature backed off, before charging in with its claws. With a swift move of her hand, Alice managed to block it however – metal grinded against silicates, artificial muscles against real ones.

And then the Grappler exploded.

Alice looked around, before a cascade of fire nailed the Tanks that had slowly surrounded her in the meantime.

_Friendlies?_

A pair of blood-soaked Strike Eagles landed next to her.

"Guess we made it right on time, eh?" A face of a young, relatively handsome man with pale hair and gray eyes appeared on her HUD.

"We don't have the time, Max." His companion, a similar man with darker complexion and dim, golden eyes spoke as his Strike Eagle automatically reached out to the container, grabbing some of the last rifles and magazines. "Hey, we could use some cover over here."

"Y-yes!" a shaken Alice replied, before aiming at the advancing BETAs.

Yuuya rapidly assessed the situation as he reloaded. Max's gamble paid off – after racing towards the last known position of Alpha Squadron, they were able to find the last holdout with a few supply canisters left. Well, holdout was a bit of a stretch – three (now five) TSFs haphazardly trying to stem the BETA advance, pressed up against hastily stacked-up containers.

Suffice to say, it wasn't good. If Destroyers charged them en-masse, they would have to scatter, at which point everyone would be easily separated and eliminated.

He opened the main radio channel used by American forces, and took a deep breath.

"Theta Three to all US callsigns. We have to get out of here. Keep moving, or we're toast."

"You can move yourself, buddy," a male voice shot back. "But we ain't moving an inch 'til we get some fire support."

"You _do_ realize there will be no fire support unless that Laser-class herd gets owned, right?" Max interjected. "And that's not happening unless we link up with the main EU force. We have to get out of encirclement."

"And what makes you think we can?" Another voice, somewhat more level and deeper.

"My infallible ego and my friend's skills."

The man broke into a low laughter as he gunned down a lone Destroyer. "One of you is that Jap, Bridges, right? Shit, if you're half as good as they say, I'm with you. And they're right Jasper, we have to keep moving."

"Shit. Fine, fine, you wiseguys got any plan, or do we just make a beeline for the trees?"

Yuuya paused. "According to the mission briefing, allied lines stretch several kilometers southwards from here."

"Wouldn't that lead us straight into the BETA flank?" It was the girl this time, the one he just saved.

"This far out of a Hive, herds can't just magically appear out of nowhere. This BETA herd probably came out here all the way from the frontline while we weren't looking."

"And leave its back open to the EU? That would be dumb."

"If we were fighting humans, Jasper. We aren't." The other pilot shot back. "And if he's right, there's a good chance EU forces are hoping to catch those bugs with their pants down and are pursuing...if we go far enough we might even meet their vanguards. Assuming we can actually _get_ there."

"We can. If we set our boosters to maximum, and fly just several meters above BETA bodies, we should have just enough leeway and speed to avoid their claws and dodge Lasers."

"You mean, we can get shot _and_ grabbed?"

"If we work together, we should be able to clear a path… and if we stay close to BETA, Lasers won't fire. Let's use that against them."

"Best plan I heard all day. Let's get on to it."

* * *

_Eastern Flank, several minutes prior_

"Rain Dancer One, Fox Two!"

"Rain Dancer Two, Fox Two!"

"Rain Dancer Three, Fox Two!"

The squadron of Typhoons tore into the BETAs' back ranks, as they followed up with the unexpected development. Just several moments ago, Command Post informed them that the Americans managed to unintentionally drag away most BETA to the defense of a few remaining Lasers. With that window of opportunity, the eastern flank of EU forces advanced with fervor, breaking through and rapidly advancing towards the Lasers. However, with the Americans cut off and isolated, it was a race against time.

Monica grunted as she pulled her Typhoon into a tight turn, before lashing out with axes in a graceful machine equivalent of pirouette, as she chopped the nearest Laser-class BETA to death, sending streams of red and blue fluids into the skies. Each of these strikes she dedicated to the brave fools from America that made it possible.

And she silently prayed for them to stay alive.

After all, she rationalized, a Prima Donna could not let someone best her. Even in dying first.

* * *

(_American battlefield, current time)_

"One…two…GO!" And with Yuuya's shout, the five TSFs jumped up and sped forward, above the claws of gleeful BETA.

But not before one of them left a little present.

One of Strike Eagle's arms twisted, aiming the AMWS-21 backwards, before it fired a 120mm HESH round, before changing position to forward again. The lone round whistled above heads of BETA strains, seemingly fired without a purpose.

Before it detonated right next to fuel supply containers. The explosion lifted dust, ash and fire, throwing around tanks and smaller soldier strains effortlessly. The fireball stayed in the air for a couple of seconds – but that was enough to heat the fuel pooling at the base of the container into fire. Subverting gravity, tongue of fire raced up the container to the breach in a side made by a knife.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

But then the container exploded in a deafening explosion. The nearby containers were swept-up in the blast, and whatever munitions that remained in them promptly lit up. Which included lots and lots of missile containers. A wave of explosions followed, sympathetic detonations, as smaller balls of fire smashed into surrounding BETAs.

Yuuya gave no attention to this however, as his TSF raced just above the heads of other BETA. The two rifles he grabbed were now firing on full auto, clearing a path through the frontline.

"Laser warning!" Max shouted. Man, they were doing that a lot recently, haven't they?

"Fire anti-laser rounds! Keep going!"

As one, the Strike Eagles fired anti-laser smoke grenades from their Strike Eagles' shoulders, the grenades exploding above them and forward of them, and momentarily covering the quintet in a cloud of heavy metal. Then they were through, not a second later, leaving that scant protection behind, as they pushed hard towards safety-

-and the beams lanced through the clouds. Anti-laser smoke could only weaken the beams; no manmade defense could ever totally deflect the beams of coherent light, but every little bit helped: the metal clouds managed to weaken the beams _just _so and caused them to bend ever so slightly, missing the fleeing TSFs by a hair.

"I see it!" Alice's voice broke through the comms. "No-man's land approximately 4km ahead!"

The remaining time passed by in seconds as the machines fought with time to outrace their blood-smelling pursuers. They jinked left and right, their guns never ceasing fire except to reload.

And finally, they made it.

Diving even lower, so they would just hover over ground, the machines raced ahead, leaving behind only a thin vapor from melted snow. They did it – they managed to fly out of the encirclement, through sheer dumb luck and speed. Now, it was only a matter of reaching allied forces –

"Contact! Large scale target detected to the left along with several Grapplers! Evasive action!"

Yuuya cursed as his radar registered a small grouping of enemy units. He cursed again, as he noticed one of the beings: an absolutely massive, hornet-like creature.

Which launched a spike right at Max and Alice.

_They're not going to dodge at this speed! Unless…_

Shepard's face came to his mind, stern yet accepting_. "Listen. There is a time for heroics, and there are times when you shut up and fall in with the ranks. The best talent a soldier can have is not strength or knowledge – it is the ability to read the situation and know when each one is needed."_

So, he figured, it was time to do something stupid.

He dodged hard to his left, knocking straight into Alice's craft. The girl screamed as she momentarily lost control of her F-15E, and slammed into her other comrade, pushing both TSFs out of the projectile's path.

He then dodged hard to the left, hoping for the best.

No such luck.

The whip-like object ripped through his right booster like a knife through butter. The fuel in the device momentarily exploded, shrapnel piercing the weakened composite armor and rocking the unstable machine. Yuuya's body thrashed around in the cockpit, as safety bolts locked to his suit fought to keep him in place. Setting the thrust to reverse, he flipped backwards towards new hostiles, and braced for impact.

* * *

It took him a while to stop feeling nauseous and for the world to stop spinning.

His head hurt like after a massive hangover, and he could feel a characteristic iron taste in his mouth. The HUD projection was fuzzy in his eyes, the TSF status icon in the lower right corner flashing alternately red or dull black.

It didn't take an expert to realize he wouldn't be taking off again.

But by some miracle of engineering, his optical sensors were still functioning – though perhaps he would have been better off if he was blinded. The large, hornet-like BETA (Yuuya idly recollected something about a "Fort-class") was still there, and seemed to be staring right into his eyes. A number of Grapplers were surrounding his machine like beast-tamers would surround a dangerous lion. He watched amazement as various orifices in the massive Fort-class would open, dripping with fluid before beginning to spit forth a wave of Soldier-class and Tank-class BETA. Yuuya felt sick, but his head hurt too much to even puke.

He managed to understand that this was it. He would die, dragged out of his TSF on some remote, frozen corner of Europe, eaten to death by Space Bugs.

What an illustrious end to a career.

He instinctively checked for his side-arm hidden under the pilot seat, cursing the fate that neither branch of military saw it fit to incorporate infantry rifles into TSF cockpits. After all, if a pilot was downed, and managed to bail out, he was pretty much supposed to run like hell to be picked up by the nearest machine, not keep fighting. A rifle was just a waste of dollars and space – especially since few pilots lasted long enough to _need_ a rifle.

But he really wished he had one right now. At least, he would be able to kill a few of those fuckers as they would inevitably pull him out of there.

_Is this the best I can do…to die here? Without achieving anything? …But then again, what was ever expected out of me?_

An image flashed before his mind, of an angry old man and a young blonde woman arguing in kitchen.

"_I told you! Those Japs are sneaks and good-for-nothing schemers! He left you alone with this…this MUTT! You should hav-"_

_A slap echoed across the room, as the woman disdainfully stared down that old man._

"_Get out of _my _house. I am no longer your daughter. Get out, or I will call the police."_

_The man gaped at her in shock, before walking out of the kitchen visibly shaken. But on his way, he noticed a little scared boy – _

_Yuuya never before or after seen someone who had hated him as much as that man back then. _

He spit blood on his controls, taking the pain to raise his hand back to controls. Would he die? Would he just give up on himself like everyone else had done?

No.

Even if he was to die, he would remain defiant to the very end. He would never give them the pleasure of giving up.

He stared at the BETA one more time. The foe that destroyed him, that defeated him and was now mockingly preparing to finish him off.

"Fuck you." His voice was coarse, weak. But it carried conviction. "Y-you hear me? _FUCK. YOU._ I spit on everything you value you monsters…" He coughed weakly, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. "I will find everything y-uk-you ever loved and I will burn it to the ground, fuck it and salt it. I will destroy your life so hard that God will have to erase you out of the universe from simple pity, you god-dammn alien fucks!"

Then the BETA exploded.

The Fort didn't _die_, but Yuuya with surprise noticed a big fountain of greenish blood streaking from the top along with broken pieces of carapace. It took him an extra few minutes of shaking to realize that it wasn't his TSF being pulled apart, but a rhythmic sound of man-made explosives. He then noticed that the annoying, scratching sound of pain in his ears, was in fact a voice.

"…I repeat, this is HSwMS _Värmland_ to all U.N forces, we are providing fire support on Sectors Charlie 3 and 2. Requesting additional co-ordinates, I repeat…"

He stared, amazed as arches of fire came down from the sky and smashed his enemy to pieces.

His eyes begun to water as he noticed new shapes. They were white, sleek, but marred by blood and dirt.

But to him, they were beautiful.

Yuuya felt even weaker. The world begun to dance at his eyes, and his hands fell from the controls.

"M-mom…I did good…right?...I did good, right…_Dad?_"

As darkness overcame him, he heard a soft feminine whisper.

_"You did good son. You did good. Don't worry, we'll get you home."_

* * *

_Several Days Later, U.N Transport Ship_

"If I was a bit more hypocritical, I'd say just what kind of arrogant asshole you are Yuuya, but you really saved us." Max overlooked him somewhat capriciously over the hospital bed.

Yuuya merely grunted, trying to not think about the splitting pain. The doctor said he would be fine in a few days – provided he didn't move too much and drink regularly.

That said, the concussion, sprained muscles, and a twisted elbow ensured he would be spending some extended quality bedtime.

The battle was won – although to him, the word rang hollow. After several hours of nonstop combat, with most of the Laser-class species and the bulk of BETA forces destroyed, the task force recovered its landing force, leaving the dreadful mop-up to all too-eager battleship crews. With the BETA herd destroyed, the task force withdrew, its mission accomplished – the BETA were eliminated and would not be invading England any time soon, so staying there was pointless.

All this – all this sacrifice, all those deaths, pain and suffering – and it was considered only a regular military operation that wouldn't be mentioned in common British newspapers except perhaps on the 10th page and obituaries.

So no, that didn't feel like a victory to him at all.

In the end, the American forces managed to complete most of their objectives, but at a high cost: out of 56 pilots deployed, only 20 managed to return – out of which five would not be leaving the psychiatric ward any time soon, and another five would never serve on the frontlines ever again, their injuries too severe.

Yuuya was lucky in this regard.

Though if he really thought about it, he didn't "survive". He was "saved" – he was picked up by people who risked their lives to dig him out from the wreck of his TSF.

"So, what happens now?"

Max scratched his chin. "We're being shipped back to Ireland. From there…well, who knows? Space Force will most likely be reorganized again. A few people will get invited to become instructors. A few might leave, or take promotions."

"And you?"

"…I was already Space Force before this. I knew what I was signing up for…besides, I already sit as much as it is during my breaks. If they'd put me behind a desk, I'd have to roll instead of walking. Besides, someone needs to watch your ass."

"Last time I checked, I took a bullet for you."

"Yeah, well, I figured I can't be just the one doing all the work every time, you see?"

Yuuya just smiled, before shaking his head.

"Hey, Spark." Max only blinked.

"So, you _finally _came up with one?"

"Thanks."

The man paused. Before shaking his head, and slapping him in the shoulder.

"Any time, brother. Let me know when you want to hook up with some German babes. I gotta go."

* * *

_1__st __September 1999, Republic of Ireland, Fort Aire_

Yuuya was glad that by the time his ship reached Ireland, he was capable of walking again, even if his hands hurt like a bitch every time they moved by an inch. But as long as they weren't broken, he figured he could do this.

For the next few days after reaching the port in Cork and later, Fort Aire, Yuuya spent his time wandering between various debriefs, writing reports and checking up with the doctors. Whenever he was free, he kept browsing through Strike Eagle's operational manual. It was nothing new, but at least it kept his skill up to date, and his mind distracted.

Everything changed on Sixth day. He was officially called up to base commander's office. Naturally, that meant putting on that consistently irritatingly itching-causing pitch-black Space Force Service Dress uniform and hat. What made it more irritating, was that even with all the itching, Yuuya found it to be one of the few clothes that he honestly managed to look good in.

After being ushered into the lobby by the base secretary, he did three measured knocks on the door, before being asked to enter.

Taking off his hat, he immediately saluted the base CO, and a woman in Space Force Service Dress blacks that he had never seen before. Silver eagles on her shoulders, the mark of a full bird Colonel. A not-insignificant volume of service ribbons over her left breast, below silver pilot's wings. The black Hap Arnold coat contrasting with the Air Force light blue of her blouse, somehow cut as if to accentuate her figure, with the belt secured perhaps a size or half tighter, drawing attention to her trim waist, giving her an overall impression of sleek, sharp beauty, as if she were a rapier made flesh.

"Second Lieutenant Yuuya Bridges, reporting!"

"At ease, Lieutenant," the base commander acknowledged, before looking over at his guest. "Allow me to introduce Colonel Wilma Bishop, from the newly formed 114th Orbital Regiment."

"Ma'am."

The woman smiled at him, in a sort of the way that reminded him of a little girl picking out her favorite candy. "At ease, Lieutenant."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Good, son. Now for the fun part – " The general interrupted, seemingly mildly amused. "Being a General allows me to skip some of the Mickey Mouse. Second Lieutenant Yuuya Bridges. In view of your dedicated service, and demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, manifested by your exemplary combat record, demonstrated heroism while covering retreat of allied forces and input into 3rd Generation TSF development, you are promoted to the permanent rank of First Lieutenant, United States Space Force, effective immediately. In light of your injuries, you are also awarded the Purple Heart. Congratulations, _First_ _Lieutenant_. "

Yuuya looked stunned as the General pinned the purple-and-gold medal to his uniform, before handing him a small box that contained his new insignia.

"And now… I leave you in the Colonel's care. Good luck, son." _And if I have my way, there's a Silver Star in this for you, son. You deserve it._

"You're making me sound like a villain, Jim," the woman smiled, as she turned to Yuuya. "Lieutenant Bridges, I'm the Commanding Officer of the 114th Orbital Wing, a new unit with Space Force. It will be compromised of veteran and rookie pilots, and will operate throughout the world as a rapid-response force against BETA actions. Currently we have enough rookies… but I need _veterans_. I need someone like you, Bridges."

"With all due respect ma'am, I survived one flight. That doesn't make me a veteran." The woman's bright green eyes merely gleamed in protest.

"You survived odds that killed around 30 of best pilots in the entire US military. If that doesn't make you good, I don't know what does."

He didn't answer.

"What do you say, Lieutenant? Do you have what it takes?"

It was a meaningless question; for she already knew the answer.


	4. Chapter 1: Assault Horizon

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Muv-Luv and its related trademarks, in any way, shape or form.

_"Wars are fought by weapons, but won by men. It matters not if you have the best swords and the best shields, if you lack the men to use them."_

"Lion 3 to Lion 1. Detecting additional BETA herd entering our zone from North-North-East. Approximate speed is 80km/h. Expect contact in 10 minutes."

The squadron leader of Lion Squadron merely nodded, before cleaving another Grappler in half with his Rafale's Falcate Sword. Belonging to the French _Armee de Terre_, Lion Squadron was one of several French units assigned to the protection of Suez canal and Maghreb Africa from nearly constant BETA assaults.

The beige-colored Rafales cut through swarms of BETA, their weaponized carbon plating and FWS-G1 rifles racking up massive casualties, while the speed and mobility of 3rd Generation machines allowed them to evenly match their opposition.

But as combat against BETA always showed, there was a limit to how far quality could counter quantity.

Lion 1 clicked his tongue as he noticed massive, lumbering, hornet-like creatures across horizon: the Fort-class BETA. Almost as big as a flat block, these massive creatures were covered in armored carapace that made light of anything lighter than 100mm caliber shells. Walking on ten sleek legs, they towered across the battlefield, possessing an excellent vantage point for their chief weapon – a whiplike spike, filled with extremely corrosive acid. In addition, the Fort-class could carry smaller BETA strains within them, to be deployed as needed - and not to mention that their strength and mass ensured that anything they stepped on would be crushed as flat as paper.

"Lion 1 to all Lions. Maintain distance from Fort-class until we can minimize the danger from smaller strains-"

"Captain, look!"

The man looked up to the sky, where he could see only a flurry of vague shapes that were instantly fired upon by Laser- and Heavy-Laser classes. But rather than explode, the objects continued to fall and smashed into them. Tall plumes of dust and blood shot up into the sky and the ground thundered with impacts.

The dust had not yet settled before the air was again split with the thunder of cannons and chainguns as the payload of Delivery Capsules reached the ground – a group of nine white machines with pitch-black shoulders and jump-jet wings descended upon confused BETA, strafing Laser-classes as they went.

"Orbital Divers! Time for our turn ladies and gentlemen! Advance! The Divers will cover the Lasers! Let's sweep up the Forts for them!"

No sooner did he finish before the Rafales raced from their positions, above the heads of charging BETA, as if mocking them. While normally such a maneuver would be suicidal due to Laser-class BETA, these were currently too busy being slaughtered by the well-executed Diver entry to notice the French maneuver.

With no Laser-classes to cover them, the BETA's helplessness against aerial targets became apparent as the Rafales shredded through defenseless BETA from higher altitude while closing in to their targets. With a yell, the French pilots drew their blades and dived between the Forts. Spikes whipped about, but none hit – the Rafales swiftly evaded their whips and closed the distance – unleashing a flurry of blows at the Forts' few gaps in carapace.

The red muscles were severed and green fluids splashed forth as multiple legs and Fort heads were cleaved off by French pilots, while explosive and flechette rounds fired into their bellies ended whatever life that might have been cradled inside. The falling carcasses crushed into the BETA below, completing the destruction. Soon after, multiple rounds came flying from the back, fired by American Divers as they completed their objective and moved in to support the French. Lumbering Destroyers were killed by dozens before they managed to turn, while the Lion squadron relentlessly butchered the middle of BETA formation.

In less than 30 minutes the potentially dangerous situation was contained as the BETA force – caught between the two squadrons - was swiftly annihilated.

"Attention French Forces, this is Colonel Wilma Bishop, Comet Squadron, 114th Orbital Regiment." The internal suit translators did a decent job of translating the woman's English into understandable French (compared to horrid gibberish that some Americans sputtered whenever trying to speak French on their own.) "UN Space Command has visually identified further BETA herds approaching this sector. We are here to render assistance."

"This is Lion 1. Understood, thank you for the help, Colonel."

He now had the chance to look at American machines – he guessed it must have been some of those good, old F-15E Strike Eagle models. Their paint schemes were brilliant white, with pitch-black shoulders, head guards and jump-jet wings. A white-black and orange insignia was painted on each machines, showing a BETA Hive being bombarded by tailed meteors...comets, as the Captain remembered the specific word.

None of the machines had any significant damage, or even blood spatter. It was as if their pilots dropped in, and surgically cleaned up the mess. With style.

And that, the French could appreciate.

_Perhaps the Yankees do learn after all._

* * *

"There you are, Yuuya." The man in question groaned as pair of shadows blocked out his light, preventing him from reading the latest issue of _Rolling Thunder_ magazine. Rolling to the side of his cot, he tossed the magazine to the night table and lazily got up.

"I'm up, I'm up." He shot a dirty look to his tormentors. "Christ, you guys have no concept of rest, do you?"

Vincent Lowell, the 114th's chief mechanic grinned, while Yuuya's wingman, Max J. Grey merely shook his head.

"We're simply refreshed by the looks of your untold suffering and despair," Vincent sing-songed

"Not funny, and I can't laugh."

"Why?" Max rhetorically asked. "No, you see, I'm thinking: why is Yuuya always doing something so boring when we come to bother him instead of what a US pilot should be doing…like, reading porn or getting it on with one of those cuuute French pilots?"

"I have better things to do with my time."

"Really? You've _never _thought about it? Not even a little bit?"

"…Fine, I have. And with my sexual orientation being determined, can we move on now?"

Both Vincent and Max only snickered before Vincent tossed him a small piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"Your ticket home," Vincent grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"Home!? You mean they're pulling us out?"

"No," Max interrupted, leaning against the wall. "Me, you, Alice, Vinny and a couple of mechanics are being shipped back Stateside. Don't ask me why. All Bishop told us is to get our things and prep for flight to South Africa. "

"Right in a middle of an operation?"

"2nd, 3rd and 4th Squadrons should be able to handle this by themselves."

Yuuya sighed, before nodding and taking the paper slip. He wasn't happy that they had to pull back, but orders are order.

He'd just like to know _why_.

* * *

_Washington D.C, Late November, 1999_

"Sir, your guest has arrived."

David Anderson, Secretary of Defense for the United States of America, looked up from his menu and stood up as the manager escorted his date for tonight – a pretty, lithe woman with purple locks and red eyes, whose distinct triangular features signified a definitely different ancestry from Caucasian. He politely took the woman's hand and charmingly bowed, before letting her sit down.

"Araara~ A girl could get used to this sort of treatment. How's the Italian food in this restaurant?" smiled his date.

"Try the veal, it's the best in the city. Although knowing your profession, you might be more interested in a steak."

"And it's all natural?" The woman asked with a gleam in her eyes.

"Oh yes. Especially the steaks… Dr. Kouzuki."

Yuuko Kouzuki was perhaps one of the most powerful women in the world. Holding a PhD in Physics (with specialization in Quantum Mechanics), she was a high-ranking member of the UN Science Department since her late teens. Few knew however, that this specific position was a farce, and a cover from her real role – the Acting Director of the Alternative IV Plan, which placed the fate of all mankind in her lap.

"So, Doctor," Anderson began. "What brings you to Washington D.C.?"

"Steaks. Juicy, meaty steaks," smiled Yuuko, before the waiter swooped in and took their orders.

"I see. Fancy that. Those steaks wouldn't happen to several dozen meters tall, wide, and be grilled on some really nasty stuff, right?"

"Your deductions are exemplary, Mr. Anderson. You should have been a writer."

"Born in the wrong century, madam. That aside-" his face grew serious. "I cannot give you the XG-70."

Kozuki's face didn't even flinch when he said the designation, but her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

"I was under the impression that this country had a free market economy."

"Doctor, if you expected that Lockweed would sell something like this without the FBI arresting them the very next day, you're sadly mistaken."

"The XG-70 is a vital component in our plan. I do not need to remind you of its importance."

"Usage of G-Bombs to retake Yokohama was also a part of your plan. It's also the main reason why Congress will not give you the XG-70 – they think they've already done enough," Anderson shot back.

"Deploying the G-Bombs was a necessary evil. And even so, the public hesitance over causing another "Canada" given the recent sentiment, means that our mutual friends do not have nearly enough power."

"For the time being, Doctor. But Yokohama reminded them that they still have freedom of action. And you know what they say about the good stuff – do not overdose it. Even freedom. As a Doctor, I'm sure you understand."

"If I fail to provide results that would support your political option, their voices will also become stronger."

"Good doctor, please stop treating me like I'm doing this on purpose. I _would_ give you the XG-70. But I _can't_. I will and am lobbying for it, but it's hard to persuade the President to give something to the UN that amounts to a mobile superweapon. I need his approval first, and he needs Congress' approval."

The woman was silent for the moment, as the waiter arrived with their orders. Before she had a chance to reply, Anderson interrupted her.

"I can however, provide you with something else…a loan, for future times, if you will."

"Oh?"

"3rd Generation TSF trial data. Most of it at any rate…and by most, I mean "most of the parts we failed to provide to the UN"."

Yuuko laughed as she took a sip of Cabernet Sauvignon. "Impressive. But I have no use for any of that data."

"Quite the opposite, Doctor. That data may be of no use to you, but it has _value_ – say, for the Imperial Japanese Military. And that makes it a suitable bargaining chip for your other needs, doesn't it?"

"It's still useless – no matter how much those idiots in Tokyo will puff their chests out, they aren't capable of fully producing 3rd Generation TSFs beyond their current capacity. The data may help, but ultimately, they wouldn't be able to do anything with it."

"Tsk, tsk. Doctor Kozuki. _Why_ would we want them to do _anything_ with it? Even better if they can't - it means they will need our help later. And as a…middle-man of sorts, you would naturally be able to "charge" them for your help in this matter… for the second time, I might add."

The woman laughed. "Secretary Evans warned that you were a much shrewder man than you appeared. Yes, I could do that. But such a loan does not completely cover the value of what I want."

"Several scientists working in fields related to G-Elements, avionics and superconductors are currently working with DARPA on the ATSF project. With EMD Phase 2 coming to a conclusion, it would be entirely possible of me to…recommend that DARPA commits these resources to your work."

"And in return?"

"You will stop clogging up my secretary's phone, for starters. I would like for you to also stall the UN for more time – the longer they delay, the fewer… Babylonians remain in the capital. And with the resources I provide, I'm sure you can strike up a colorful show for those dull folks, no?"

Yuuko gracefully smiled, before taking a bite out of her steak and chewing thoughtfully on it.

"You were right. These steaks are _really_ delicious. Exactly what I was looking for."

* * *

Jack Harper relaxed in his seat as he continued to read operational reports and sip his brandy. Sun may set over America, but it never did over his network of agents – day and night they fed him information and carried out plans meant to ensure American superiority.

He quietly laughed as he read another report on Alternative IV's progress. Professor Kozuki and her allies were getting crafty with their work, but in the end, it wouldn't be enough. If they wouldn't be able to deliver results soon, the Alternative V plan would be renewed.

That plan.

A massed G-bomb assault on every Hive carried out from orbit, while a handful of civilians would escape in long-range space ships to another system, to colonize a new planet and start afresh.

Harper privately considered this to be the most moronic plan the White House ever came up with, and that was really saying something.

Which is why he supported it.

It was risky, but on the face of it, Alternative V _was_ workable. As an agency that supported American supremacy through any means necessary, it made sense for the CIA to back the plan that ensured maximum gains for America at minimum losses: and G-bombs could be used to do just that, as Operation Lucifer demonstrated. For a world that had seen generations of continuous slaughter, that was a tempting proposition.

And thanks to that, he was placed in the perfect position to send Alternative V off the rails.

The fact was that G-bombs were a complete unknown. Unlike nuclear elements, G-elements could manipulate gravity, superconduct at room temperature, create charged fields that could increase or decrease mass and were highly toxic. There was almost absolutely no way to know what a massed use of G-bombs could cause. The more ignorant considered them nukes, just more powerful.

But nuclear physics was not an entirely unknown field when the A-Bomb was built. And outside of isolated tests in the Nevada desert, America had only deployed nukes once, to counter the Athabasca landing. Had mankind used nuclear weapons en masse right after they were rolled out, the results would have been devastating to the world.

He wouldn't give the benefit of the doubt to a weapon of mass destruction whose creators didn't even know what it exactly did.

So Jack Harper silently did everything he could to prevent what he felt would be the biggest mistake in human history.

Unfortunately, the remnants of Alternative V's backers were able to prevail within the UN to gain go-ahead for deployment of G-bombs during Operation Lucifer. It was a move born out of desperation, after an all-out assault by Japanese forces on Yokohama hive ended in failure, and there was a real prospect that Japan would falter, and be routed.

And so two G-bombs destroyed the hive on the first try.

It was a terrific win, even if the hive was never truly destroyed, but rendered dormant – its spire and the BETA within the underground levels were killed, but the entire infrastructure remained intact, and to the best of CIA's knowledge, still operational.

But that was something that Alternative V would admit, and Alternative IV had too much to lose by revealing such a fact.

If the international public demanded that Alternative V plan would be utilized, the current U.S administration (which was the original mastermind, and was merely forced to delay implementation by electoral concerns) would be all too happy to oblige.

Of course, said public remained unaware that such a plan would involve the evacuation of afew wealthy and capable elites away from Earth, or that an "Alternative" to that even existed in the first place. It was a skewed choice.

So Jack Harper would have to do everything to make sure G-bombs would be remembered as the source of all evils in this world.

He punched a series of numbers on his phone, and waited until it connected. He rapidly disconnected, and then dialed the number again. After three pings, the call was picked-up.

"Yes?" It was a non-descript voice, which was distorted by latest technology. Harper knew for a fact that his own voice was processed in the same way when calling from his "work" phone.

"Purple Princess won't be making it for Mommy's Birthday Party. Looks like someone will have to guide her."

"Then the Cerberus will lead the way."

* * *

_1/12/1999 Nevada, Area 51, United States of America_

Leon Kuze nonchalantly tightened his scarf as he lazily observed the tarmac at the distant branch of Edwards Military District Base – one that was known to common public as "Area 51". Not for the first time, he marveled at the irony of a base in Nevada being administered by another base in California.

"Awww, so you _were_ sulking after all."

Leon turned around, his dark, raven-black hair momentarily blacking his vision before moving out of his eyes. He noticed an attractive woman standing beside him – of average height, but very well proportioned features, strawberry blond hair and pale blue eyes.

"I'm not sulking Sharon. I'm just here to pay my respects to their majesties."

Sharon Heim merely giggled as she stepped up to him. "You do realize that it's a logical decision right?"

He groaned. Sharon referred to the fact that the F-22A Raptor prototypes that they were testing, would now have to undergo testing _again_ – at the hands of actual combat pilots from Space Force.

It was a reasonable decision – after all, the Raptor was meant as the next top craft of US forces, so it made sense that command wanted to put it through paces with someone who had actually fought on the front lines.

It still felt like a slap to the face to Leon though. In a "Sure you are top pilot. Now get out of my sight and let real men take the job," kind of way.

And as a test pilot, Leon had his _pride_. Sure, he may not have actual combat experience, but he was not a novice either. As a former aggressor pilot and TOPGUN graduate, he knew how to fight, and he would be damned if he let a shitty TSF past development stage.

"I'm sure they'll agree with ATSF's decision. They'll spin it for a few rounds and go back to whatever they were doing before,." Sharon continued.

In the meantime, Leon continued to watch the starry horizon. One of the dots was coming lower and lower, until its face was no longer that of a dot, but the distinct, elegant curve of HSST shuttle. The craft effortlessly tore through atmosphere, before finally deploying its break parachutes. With a roar, the spacecraft descended on the main runaway, as Leon and Sharon covered their ears from the inevitable piercing howl of braking.

_At least, they know how to make an entrance. I do wonder who they'll send though. Probably a couple of those Euro nutjobs that labor for citizenship._ Leon shook his head. _Of if they're crazy enough, even Bridges. Now _that_ would be funny._

* * *

Yuuya winced as the cold pierced through his Space Force Service Dress uniform as the group begun to disembark from the HSST. The base commander and his escorts saluted Colonel Bishop, nearly tripping themselves trying to match the woman's wide and energetic strides.

"Not your place, Yuuya?" Alice inquired behind him, as she grabbed Max' arm.

"Nah. Area 51 was always a pit of FUBARing, and it always will be."

"The most exciting place in the America? No way!" Vincent excitedly shot back at the end of the column, widely looking around. Yuuya merely grunted.

_This place has a stick so far up its ass it has to sleep standing up. Those brassholes would eat their own fucking shit if it would make the President happy. _

So before anyone asked, no, Yuuya Bridges was not happy to be back in Nevada.

Especially since, like most of America, common sense was in short supply, and it was cold, something that you'd definitely not associate with a desert.

* * *

The official introduction part came early the next morning, in one of the main briefing rooms of the base. Their commanding officer made a short speech about the necessity of "next developmental stage" and other nonsense, while Leon did his best to not try and looked bored. After about 15 minutes, the man finally introduced their replacements – the Space Force pilots that walked through the door as if on cue.

The first was the woman with silver eagles of a full Colonel, who was introduced as Colonel Wilma Bishop. Leon and most pilots in Infinity Squadron had heard of her – the brilliant, but unruly Army pilot who rose through ranks based on her phenomenal skills, predictive ability and crushing the balls of any man stupid enough to be in her way. It was said that she could whip a unit never-do-well from the worst prison into a fighting force that could go toe-to-toe with the best. Then some Captain by name of Grey or something was introduced, followed by another man, with obviously Asian features. Leon resisted the urge to laugh. The man's grimace and stance were almost identical to that asshole Bridges…

"First Lieutenant Yuuya Bridges."

Wait, what?

He looked on, before realizing that the man was in fact, Yuuya himself.

"_No way. No freakin' way. And he outranks me?"_

The man locked stares with him for only a second, and Leon realized he had spoken aloud, before moving on to the rest of the room. But Leon already knew it for certain. The man was the one and only Yuuya Bridges.

_Lovely._

"Now", their operations officer, Keith Blazer, began, calling the meeting to order. "In preparation for general anti-BETA combat evaluation, our units will begin joint anti-BETA exercises starting today. The Infinities, together with Comet Flight, will work through a new training program on JIVES. Infinities will continue to use the EMD-2 Raptors, our guests will sortie in Strike Eagles on loan from the 65th's Flanker Battalion. Any questions?"

When there were none, the man nodded.

"Good. Exercise starts at 1300 sharp. Get ready. Dismissed."

* * *

"You have something to say, Yuuya?" Colonel Bishop probed him as the Infinities begun to move out of the room. Feeling the eyes of his teammates focus on him, he shook his head.

"I shouldn't be here."

"_I _think otherwise. And so does Command."

"They must have mistaken me for someone else then. I'm not a test pilot. And I don't want to be one."

"Such a shame we aren't a democracy then, because you don't get a choice Bridges," his commander reprimanded him sternly. "And you _will_ be working with local personnel. That's an order."

He could only grumble in reply.

* * *

The noises and the usual organized chaos of a hangar bay did well to keep Yuuya distracted as he sat in the open cockpit of his F-15E, making further adjustments to sensitivity regulators. As they couldn't transport their machines from the frontlines, the Space Force pilots were given regular Army machines, which necessitated a number of important (if fairly mundane) adjustments to the TSF controls to better match their own piloting style.

Despite the simplicity, it did well to keep Yuuya occupied, and out of getting into various troubles. Like punching a certain Leon Kuze in the face, or accidentally stepping on the foot of a certain local Captain with his armored suit.

"You should have told me you were here." Vincent spoke to him as he approached over the catwalk. Yuuya merely nodded, looking up from a digital panel attached to controls.

"Control error is only within 0.10%. As expected out of you, Vincent."

"Well, yeah, I'm the best mechanic there is, right?" The man shook his head for a moment. "But anyway Yuuya, what the hell is wrong with you? You keep acting like a, a-"

"A what, Vincent?"

"I dunno!" Vincent sighed. "You're just not being yourself. And you keep giving those pilots the stares like they killed your mother. And I'd rather prefer if we didn't have any friendly-fire accidents."

Yuuya rubbed his face. He knew this moment would eventually come, but he didn't want to explain it – not when he had a mission to complete.

"I'll tell you later. Promise. For now, just refuel the jump-jets alright?"

The blond-haired men stared at Yuuya for a while, before drooping his shoulders in defeat. "Fine, fine. But you're paying the next round."

"That's fine by me."

* * *

_1/12/1999 Groom Lake Testing Range, Nevada, USA, 1300 hours_

After several more minutes of organized chaos, the F-15Es were prepared, undocked, and finally lead out of the hangar by their pilots, moving right up to the object of their evaluation.

The four F-22A Raptors stood still on the launch pad, light gently reflecting off their midnight black paint. They looked less like humanoid warriors that most TSF resembled, and more like warbirds – sleek, strong and somewhat disturbing. They were in a way a machine that gave off a completely different vibe than any other TSF, truly a next-generation machine.

And then, they were hurled by the catapult forward, towards the endless desert horizon.

"Infinity One to Command Post. Approaching waypoint Alpha."

"Acknowledged, Infinity One. Stand by once you reach your destination, we're updating our intelligence."

"Infinity One copies."

Leon yawned as his Raptor leisurely passed through the same monotonous flat desert terrain that it did on every field exercise. At least, the Command gave them the permission earlier to cruise at their top speed for a while. Apparently, Space Force wanted to see the Raptor's capacity "first-hand prior to the exercise".

Well, now that was a request he wouldn't frown at. They wanted a show, they had one –the F-15Es were only now catching up to them at the designated waypoint.

He idly wondered which of the machines was being piloted by Yuuya, before Command broke his reverie again.

"This is CP to all units. We are beginning the Oslo Program. Initiating JIVES."

The screen blinked for a bit, before returning to normal. Then slowly, the first pixels began to form objects. Then, faster and faster, lines of code were rendered into shape, size and color, and the BETA horde came to life.

It was not an unusual sight for Infinities – JIVES training was used regularly during the ATSF project and for EMD Phase II. The Raptor was supposed to dominate the battlefield against human and BETA opponents, after all.

But today something was different.

The BETAs on screen continued to multiply as if without limit, and soon the entire horizon was overrun by a sea of monsters.

"Hey, hey," Leon called into the radio. "Infinity Two to CP, we're seeing an awful lot of bugs down there. Is this a glitch?"

"… Negative, Infinity Two. This is the actual program. You're clear to begin the exercise."

_What?_

It was ridiculous – the numbers were far above anything they ever trained for – it was like throwing a man who just read about swimming into the Pacific Ocean.

"That's the frontlines for you," a voice drawled in the comms, that Leon found vaguely familiar. "The theory rarely covers the practice. We – and our Oslo Program- will correct that."

_Bridges!_

"Infinity squadron, proceed forward in Arrowhead-1 formation!" Keith said, interrupting his thoughts. "We will make a single pass right through them then turn around. Got it?"

"Infinity Four, roger" Sharon replied.

"…Infinity Three, understood" Guylos McCloud, the third member of the Infinities, agreed.

Inside her cockpit, Wilma Bishop shook her head as the Raptors charged into the BETA horde.

_"And they call _me_ Wild Wilma..." _"Comet Flight, move in. Alice, prioritize Destroyer-class. Yuuya, Max, cover her. I will be on-point and searching for any Laser-class. If you spot any Laser independently, you are clear to engage, unless it's too far out – then report it to me. Got it?"

The Strike Eagles blasted off, as a chorus of eager replies acknowledged her.

Leon Kuze breathed hard as he gunned down another Grappler into dust. They had been killing those things for hours to no end, but the exercise didn't seem to be nearly finished. And so exhaustion and ammunition and fuel depletion begun to sink in.

But, he supposed, if they were this exhausted, then what about their partners?

But to his surprise, the Space Force hadn't even slowed down. The four Strike Eagles continued to carve their way through the BETA horde, picking off targets strategically.

Yelling angrily, he dodged a Grappler by moving behind it, the sheer power of Raptor's engines making the whole motion look like nothing but blur. The poor creature didn't even have a chance to realize from which side it was filleted before it was registered as dead.

But the move put him right in path of a Destroyer, which fearlessly charged at him.

He deployed his back-mounted assault cannons and fired, and watched on with surprise as the first shell only cracked the armor and the second merely lightly penetrated the armored hide. He cursed as he remembered that most of their 120mm rounds were High Explosive Squash Heads instead of armor-piercing sabot shells.

He twisted his controls, and Raptor begun to move, but at this distance, even its superiority in dodging wouldn't save it.

And then the Destroyer died, as 36mm rounds slammed into it from behind. The creature twisted and went off course, missing Leon by millimeters.

A lone Strike Eagle raced past him, not even nodding to the pilot it just saved.

But to Leon it was obvious which pilot it was.

And if he wanted a re-match for old time's sake, he would get one.

* * *

_Several hours later_

Sharon sighed as she massaged her neck. Today's exercise went far from perfect – the "surprise" element of facing nearly a triple number of BETAs from their normal training regimen being only the starter. After battling through several waves of increasingly aggressive and numerous force, the Command Post declared that "Comet flight has been killed in action", leaving the Infinities as the sole combatants.

From there, it took them exactly 17 minutes to be rendered "combat ineffective" – the military's euphemistic way of saying "totally exterminated".

She supposed it was to be expected when faced with such a radical situation, but that did nothing to lift the team's spirits. Especially Leon's, who took the failure – first on Infinities record since their inception - pretty hard.

Which left Sharon all to herself in the cafeteria, something she would rather avoid if at all possible. It wasn't that it was a shady place, it was just she didn't honestly have the strength today to go and meet someone new with whom she could share a few drinks. And drinking alone was never fun.

She inwardly groaned as he opened the doors. The place was mostly empty at this hour, most other personnel either still at their shifts or already sleeping.

The "51" cafeteria was surprisingly luxurious for something that was build in a military installation. Well, that was a little bit of a stretch – the truth was that most of the base was effectively owned by private manufacturers like Lockweed Mardin or Northrock, who then cooperated with military facilities in Nellis or Edwards, as well as using the Groom Lake Test Range. However, since a lot of the base personnel were not technically military, the investors decided to add a little more comfort then you'd expect, partially to make a legitimate excuse to cut people's leaves. Fewer leaves meant that there was a lower chance of security breach. With time, the same facilities began to be available to military pilots, since they too needed a place to relax and unwind.

She took a look around the pleasantly darkened lounge to see if there were any familiar faces. She noticed a couple of servicemen she exchange a few words through her tour, a couple of mechanics…

A man in a distinct white-and-black pilot jacket, sitting at the bar.

She'd recognized that profile anywhere.

Yuuya was already on his second shot of whiskey, when a soft, feminine voice came to his ears from behind. He suppressed the shudder and a feeling of hate coming from his gut, trying to not glare at the woman as she sat down next to him.

"Hello to you too, Sharon."

"Hello, Yuuya. Long time no see."

That was it? Was it all she had to say to him after all this time… after everything she'd done to him? He thought they could understand each other, but in the few days prior to his transfer to the Space Force, the girl threw all of that to the wind.

"…You know what? Forget it. I don't want to talk about it." Sharon blinked at him, before ordering her drink.

"I just wanted to…"

"Cuddle like old times? Or bash me for _'being an insensitive oaf'_? Or maybe offer a pity fuck? That's not happening Sharon. Go back to Leon, or whoever else you're sleeping with right now."

"Yuuya, what happened wasn't just _my_ fault."

"I'd like to point out that I got the message that I'm not boyfriend of the month. But you could have told me beforehand that you wanted to be with someone else. _Without_ me having to see you sleeping with him first." He paused. "Especially Leon."

"Do you hate him that much?"

"Who, and how I hate anyone is not the point of this discussion. And frankly, it has no point. The Space Force has a way of teaching you that there are more important things in life than worrying about your ex. Like for example, how to explain to said ex how much she and her pals suck at anti-BETA combat without dragging them through mud repeatedly."

Sharon laughed quietly at that. "You have _changed,_ Yuuya."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

And she meant it as one. When she first met him, Yuuya gave off a vibe of polished ice – intense, cold, but also determined and ambitious. Those were good qualities, but over time Sharon found that his attitude problems and insistence at being the best at everything, were just too much to stand. That, and his entire identity crisis; the chip on his shoulder for being part Japanese, which caused him to lash out at everyone and spurn Leon's attempt at friendship.

She had, in retrospect, expected him to dwell on her, keep begging her to come back, or at least jump at a chance, however short, that he could be with her again. That he wasn't doing any of that was... a surprise. Sharon just couldn't tell if it was good or bad. But it made her interested.

But right now it was pretty obvious that Yuuya would not be entertaining her curiosity any time soon.

"At any rate – as someone who was…who I hope still is…close to you…it's good to see you back in one piece." She said that softly, without unnecessary emotions. Then she picked up her glass and walked out.

She could wait and see what happened.

* * *

"So, an explanation?"

Yuuya's world was getting a little bit wobbly now, when Vincent came in. Nodding, he gestured to seat next to him.

"You want some of this?" He lifted up his prized scotch bottle. "Or your usual?"

After a brief moment of contemplation, Vincent gestured at the bottle and signaled for an empty glass, which was promptly topped off by Yuuya.

"So, why do you hate Nevada, and who the hell was that babe?"

Yuuya sighed. "My ex."

"Your e-wait, what? You mean _your_ ex? As in, ex-girlfriend!?"

"Well, she certainly wasn't _your_ ex, was she Vinny?" Yuuya shot back. "Christ…I thought I got over it, but every time I see her…or that jerk anyway, it keeps coming back to me." Vincent didn't speak, just let Yuuya vent. That was what he had to do as a friend… the price he paid for a glass of that fine whiskey.

"Back when I just finished my training…you know our class was invited to take part in ATSF? The EMD Phase, actually: the competition was over for_ years_, but they were just getting EMD started. Someone wanted "_fresh, young pilots"_ to get adjusted to the future machines they would have to pilot. We were the best cadets, and since a lot of us would be going for TOPGUN, it wasn't that big of a surprise…well, during that time, Sharon Heim was my woman. Incidentally, Leon Kuze, one of the guys on Infinity, was a fellow cadet. Well, we were Ghost Flight back then." He took a long slip from his glass and continued.

"Well, me and her…we didn't always see eye-to-eye. I didn't really think much of it back then…like, you know, a couple always has some differences between themselves, right? So, one day I said something, Sharon got all pissy and said we should go on break. Take some time off from each other. I was being pissed off as well and said _Sure, why not_…So then, a few weeks later I find out that she decided to go out with another guy…after I found her screwing him under showers. It was Leon of course."

Vincet blinked. "Wow, that's…well, a kinda shitty thing to do."

"Me and Leon had a rivalry going back a while…we were two of the best pilots, and well…" he paused "He's half-Japanese too. And _loves_ to rub it in into my face."

_Ah. Back to the identity issue, are we? _thought Vincent.

"Like that makes him special or something…fucking mutt with that idiotic surname. At any rate, I'd rub it back into him every time I'd deck in the simulators. So yeah, we had a past." Yuuya narrowed his eyes. What made him different from Leon? Why did it always have to be him who was "that jerk", "that madman", "that Japanese twit" and not Leon? What did he have that Yuuya didn't? And it wasn't like American had any right to talk, being ass-kicked out of England 300 years ago…The taunts and pranks Yuuya could forgive. But he could never forgive that smug smile he always got from Leon whenever he was with his pals and Yuuya was always the odd one out. Maybe it had something to do with how readily Leon would bend over for acceptance in Yuuya's opinion. And if Yuuya's service record was anything to go by, that was one art he himself failed to master since day one.

"…So, what happened next?"

"We fought a bit, got thrown in the brig…then released, and back to training. Then Leon beat me in the match. He kept gloating all the way to showers, when he explained how he'd fuck Sharon every now and then, and that I should have just dumped her when it wasn't working when, and I was being an idiot so on so on…"

"Wow." Vincent replied.

"Yeah." Yuuya paused for emphasis, before taking the last sip out of his glass. "So I kicked him in the balls. The hardest kick I ever made. I don't think I've ever heard a guy squeal like that. So then, this hotshot friend of his comes to his help …so I punched that guy too, smashed him into the floor. _Then_ I kicked him in the balls. Next day I accepted the "invitation" to the Space Force. I had no idea what happened after that, but I assumed everyone thought I'd just get killed after the first drop and that would be the end of it."

"Too bad for them."

"Well, yeah." Yuuya paused. "That's pretty much it for the short version. I kinda…don't feel like getting into the details."

Vincent nodded. "Sure enough. At least, that explains why you and some of the Infinites seemed all buzzed up after the briefing. "

"There's that too…I should probably stop here for the day. Wild Wilma will kill me if I wake up with a hangover."

"Sure thing…and Yuuya," Vincent called after him. "If you ever need help, come talk to me man. Okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind."

CHAPTER END


	5. Chapter 2: Highway to the Danger Zone

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, in any shape, way or form, any rights to Muv-Luv franchise and its associated trademarks.

"_To find your greatest enemy, it is enough to look into the mirror"_

The dark corridor grew bright as a single machine raced through its depths. Seemingly alone, the dark-painted craft became a blur as it dodged turns and slowly climbed towards the light, far, far away.

"Comet-3" The Command Post reported. "You have passed Waypoint Gamma. Time: - 1:35 minutes from previous record."

Inside one of the countless command rooms within Area 51, a group of military officers tensely watched as their latest machine sped through the Halls of Hive, dodging and destroying its opposition in a flash.

Although such tests were carried out in the past, today was particularly special, as the machine was not tested by just any pilot, but one that witnessed the horrors of war personally.

Wilma Bishop confidently stared at the screens, her pitch-black uniform making her visually distinct from the waves of Army Green. The number 2 on Comet flight, Capt. Max J. Grey stood on her right, silently observing the progress as well.

"You're in awfully good mood m'am." He whispered.

"Only two days, and he pilots it like he always did it." She whispered back. "Just as expected out of Yuuya, he always delivers."

Within the cockpit of his F-22 EMD Phase II Raptor, Yuuya grunted as a gush of G-force slammed into him despite the best efforts of his suit. He stole a glance at top left corner of his HuD. The positioning icon remained nearly flawlessly on-centre even as he pulled tight turns and pushed the airbreaks to their limits.

Say what you will about the ATSF project, but this thing could _fly._

As he passed another waypoint, the sides of the Hall begun to crawl with _shapes _– first indistinct, but then clearing into a visible shape of Tank-class BETA. As if on cue, several of the dropped from ceiling, out for his blood.

"_Not today you cheeky fucks."_

The Raptor effortlessly outran the falling creatures, its back rack rising as two remaining AWMS rifles came to life and churned Tanks into a clunky salsa with several expertly-paced salvoes. Pulling Raptor into a tight turn, Yuuya pushed into the last leg of its flight, as sunlight begun to shine from the proverbial end of the tunnel.

That didn't mean the BETAs were willing to part with him that easily.

Angry-red Tanks begun to drop from ceiling like bats, their hands, legs and mouth outstretched as they lunged at lone Raptor. But none managed to even come close, as they were either outmaneuvered and left to fall to their deaths, or gotten an express date with a 36mm bullet.

"Command Post to Comet-3, final waypoint reached, simulation end." The voice from HuD commented again, as the view around Yuuya begun to disintegrate into lines of code, before blinking and returning to natural vision – showing Yuuya the landscape of Nevada's salt lakes from high above.

"Analysis completed." The voice continued. "The overall time has been reduced by 6 minutes. No damage suffered to the craft. Congratulations Lieutenant."

"Comet-3 roger. Returning to base."

The Raptor instantly turned on its back, before beginning to lazily cruise back to the Area 51.

"So, Yuuya" It was the distinct voice of his commander, who had most likely snatched the headset from some poor bridge bunny. "How is it?"

"To be honest, the way how quickly it responds to commands and how much power it can unleash, it's a bit disorienting at first…but once you get that under control and use it, I don't think this machine can be matched. Although from professional Diver standpoint, the lack of any close-quarters improvements over Eagle is a bit disappointing."

"I see. Well, it isn't the YF-23. Although I'm sure we can work something out. Oh, and you have further tactical training with Infinities this afternoon. Have fun."

Yuuya could only sigh. His commander would never change, would she?

* * *

_1420, Nevada Desert_

"Infinity-2, 3, you're too far away!" Yuuya cursed his luck as he went over the same portion of JIVES simulation again. "You're creating too big of an opening for Tank-class to come through!"

"They can't latch on to us anyway." Leon retorted. "And this way, we can deal with Destroyers faster!"

"Idiot. The Destroyers are small fries. While you're busy shooting them, either Tank- or Grappler-class can sneak in and kill you. And because you rushed out, your partner won't be there to help you! This _isn't_ your precious anti-TSF training!"

Leon annoyingly clicked his tongue as he slashed another Grappler to pieces with his knives. It has been almost a week since the Comet flight begun its evaluation. During this time, the remaining two F-22 models were brought online, and it was decided that it would be the best if Comet flight could join them in Raptors for the training.

However, as the Colonel was required to attend various boardroom meetings with both other officers and designers, it mean that the ones manning the machines would be Captain Grey and his wingman…Yuuya Bridges.

And to be honest, he was starting to be a little sick of their preaching.

"We move out" He paused as he chopped one too-greedy Tank "Because we know each other and trust to match up with us. Or are you implying that the trust between teammates is irrelevant?"

"Lieutenant Bridges implies no such thing." Several Grapplers exploded as another Raptor swopped in between him and Yuuya, firing full auto from all four guns. "However, he makes a valid point of questioning your confidence…unfounded confidence. It's one thing to play hero when everyone needs it, another to keep your place in ranks and not get killed…like, right now."

As if to punctuate Max's words, collision alarms rang out in Leon's cockpit. _"From behind!?"_

With lightning quick movement, the Raptor turned around to face a charging Destroyer-class. Applying full thrust to its engines, the machine revolved on one leg, narrowly side-stepping the creature…however, the leap in the firerate proved fatal and several Tank-classes almost immediately jumped all over the Raptor – their greedy mouths supposedly ripping off armor and joints, which JIVES represented by rapidly decreasing the Raptor's performance. No sooner, a well-aimed strike to the cockpit by a Grappler rendered Leon 'KIA', in spite of Yuuya's nearly instant intercept.

"Well" The captain said. "That's it for theory. Now let's put that into practice."

* * *

It had been well after noon when Infinities returned to base for a little resupply, while their newfound "instructors" begun to lecture Infinities on the missteps.

"Here-" Max continued as he reviewed one the guncam's footages on hastily arranged viewing screen in one of the waiting rooms. "By dodging that Tank in this direction, you came too close to that Grappler. Your dodge of _it_ was not the best choice either – although a small hop like that will not get you target by a Laser-class, it may not normally be enough to actually dodge Grappler's claws.

Guylos McCloud solemnly nodded. "What was the best bet then?"

"A rapid horizontal dash to the back will usually suffice, if you have enough space. Alternatively, you can always try to block it. According to the manuals, a Strike Eagle's arm should be able to withstand the blow without much damage, a Raptor shouldn't be that different. If you're forced into a really tight quarters, you might not have a choice but to do so. Continuing." The footage now moved to the point where Guylos and Leon separated. "_Here_ you separated while covering 1st Lt. and Sharon, to gain more ground right? But with regular number of the BETA, this won't work as you simply create too many openings for them to pass through. "

"We had managed to divert Tank-classes away from objective however."

"And gotten Leon over there killed. Trained pilots are worth more than all the BETAs in the world Mr. McCloud."

"But then-" Leon chipped in "when are we supposed to gain initiative?"

"You don't get it do you?" Yuuya piqued in. Momentarily, the stares of Infinities begun to focus on him; it was not a nice feeling, but he could live with that. As much as he disliked Leon he was not about to botch his given assignment. So he felt he could rub it in a little bit if it made a point about fighting BETA that Leon would remember.

"BETAs are nowhere near human. They almost always have the advantage, they do not suffer from low morale, do not depend on conventional supplies, they do not tire. They do not balk at casualties and will continue to advance until either you or them are destroyed." He sharply glared at Leon to hammer the point home. "_Taking the initiative_ works with humans. Not with BETA. This isn't about glory. Everyone: you, your comrades; has to do their part not to win, but to _survive_. Then you can start gaining experience and decide on what method of suicide know as _heroism_ is the most fitting for you. "

"Really now Bridges; take Japan for example" Leon's own eye narrowed. "Their own troops, unless situation is dire prefer to close in on the enemy, and press the advantage. Their soldiers don't flinch from carrying out charges or taking point. Partially because that's how their doctrine works, but also because all Japanese pilots trust each other. They don't doubt _can he keep up with me?_ Because he either can or they will all die."

Yuuya clenched his fist. Leon was doing it _again._ "The same pride has also prevented the Japanese from withdrawing around Yokohama, and suffered massive casualties as result. I'm not saying you don't need pride, but you need to know _when_."

Both Keith Blazer and Max worriedly looked between their subordinates, as the air became visibly electrified. Even Guylos shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"…Heh." Yuuya let out a sigh. "Since you either choose, or simply can't understand what I'm talking about, I'll let us work that out in practice."

"Oh?" Leon's eyebrow arched. "Go on, _Professor_."

Yuuya just smirked.

* * *

_Several hours later, Nevada Desert_

"…But you know, I didn't expect Wildy to actually go along with it" Max commented as they sat in the cockpit of his Raptor. "4 vs 2 annihilation mission…seriously, you want our honor to be that badly mauled?"

"Wildy seems confident in that we can win. And so do I." Yuuya replied as he had his targeting systems slowly scan the small ravine where they were hidden. Although it was unlikely that it would pick up any targets, given the F-22's stealth capacity.

In the aftermath of the discussion, Yuuya proposed that the whole group would hold impromptu vs exercises. The Comet flight (specifically him and Max) would go up against the Infinities. The only conditions were the total annihilation of the enemy.

Surprisingly, Colonel Bishop readily agreed, as did Base Command. Yuuya had a distinct feeling that both were related.

He squinted his eyes, and the TSF automatically begun to augment the display as the camera lenses focused. Somewhere several kilometers above the ground, flew a spread out formation of Infinities. Yuuya scoffed; he wondered which bright idiot at Dreamland figured that _black_ of all colors would be good one for camouflage. Well, it wasn't – even at night, it was a pretty bad color scheme, and made you stand out for miles…triple so in the desert.

"I have a visual confirmation on the targets. Doesn't look like they know we're here." He tagged and uploaded the Raptors to the element's own tactical net, so that Max could notice the as well. Truly, the wonders of shared communications and laser-based uplinks were limitless.

"Still pretty spread out, are they…? Hmm that gives me an idea, Yuuya" Max's face broke into a grin on the HuD. "Wanna hear it?"

The lock-on alerts blared inside Infinities cockpits as the machines were directly targeted. Keith Blazer cursed as first shot narrowly missed his cockpit, although a few still managed to hit his arm, painting it bright red.

The two Raptors were charging from a small ravine, not lifting from the ground, their position made rather obvious due to trailing dust clouds.

"Here they come!" He shouted at his squadron as it instantly shifted into half-moon intercept formation. "Close in on the and surround them! Then we'll just pound them to dust."

"I think they're pissed" Yuuya observed as three Raptor's rapidly closed in on them firing.

"And whose fault is that? Stick with the plan."

"Yes _sir_".

* * *

The trio of Raptors descended like hungry bird of preys to circle their opponents. Even though the encirclement wasn't completed, it still left the Comet element only one route of escape, which was exposed from both flanks.

But Comets took it anyway. The jump-jets swiveled and aimed at the ground in typical fashion that indicated upcoming jump, and fired. And almost immediately, a cloud of dust blasted into Infinites face. Without thinking, both pilots twisted their machines around on the ground, kicking up even more dust, before falling in to the left.

"T-the dust!" Sharon shouted surprised. "They're using dust to their advantage!"

Alerts blazed in Guylos' craft as both OPFOR Raptors closed in on him through the dust. Without wasting his time, he deployed both PB knives, while deploying his back arms forward with their deadly payload. A close barrage of 36mm rounds forced Raptors to separated and alerted his allies – but with chaotic visibility, it wasn't possible for them to aim without risking friendly fire.

He parried the first blow, before pulling a tight 180 degree swing, exposing his enemy to back weapons which already swung back; but the enemy did not press forward.

Instead, a barrage of shots repainted his knee block and side thrusters.

"Infinity-3, suffered extensive damage to Right block. TSF has been disabled. Cease all movement."

That made one down. The Comet TSFs raced out of the subsiding cloud, swiftly dodging the fire from Infinity-1 as they went. But just as they took off, the remaining two Infinities regrouped and begun pursuing their targets.

Now enjoying the advantage in height, the other Raptors effortlessly dodged the shots . But rather then return fire, the units begun to withdraw.

"They're not pressing the advantage?" Leon whispered. _Now that's unusual…normally Yuuya would be after us like a dog. What is he planning?_

"Don't give them the chance to rest!" Infinity-1 chided as he joined Sharon and Leon in the formation. "We still have an advantage over them! Keep your distance and mark targets!"

"It's about the time, right?" Yuuya questioned his partner, who nodded. "Let's roll buddy."

The Comet Raptors swiftly fell out of sky as their boosts were cut, before fired again, sending the rocketing towards approaching Infinity formation. Paint bullets flew by millimeters, and few even hit, but none of the hits managed to score serious damage.

Suddenly, the two Raptors separated. As one Infinity machine begun to track it on a new trajectory, the other opposing Raptor rapidly closed in, before pulling into a rapid deceleration as it boosters swung forward, unleashing a barrage of 120mm shells, before breaking off. As both machines moved out of the way, Sharon was finally able to acquire a concrete lock over the other's Raptor jamming, and took the chance to pursue it. Before the others could back her up, Yuuya swooped in from the skies, blocking the way.

"Hold it right there pals. Your opponent is gonna be _me._"

* * *

Sharon grunted as G-force pounded into her despite the protective Reinforced Suit. The targeting scope trailed millimeters behind her target, and no matter what she did, the enemy machine hung just before it, as if mocking her.

Suddenly, the machine flew in a straight line, and targeting computer finally acquired a solid firing solution. As a long been alerted her, Sharon pushed forward on the throttle, not about to miss this chance.

But Max had already foreseen it.

His machine banked upwards, before cutting back the throttle and opening air brakes for seconds, before closing them again. The Raptor jerked, and in a single fluid motion hopped _backwards _behind stunned Sharon.

_"P-pugachev's!" _

A barrage of 36mm rounds hit her from behind, painting black Raptor red.

"CP to Infinity-4. Direct hits to entire back section and jump-jets. Damage destroyed your TSF. Cease all movement."

* * *

A streak of angry bullets cut the sky as last two Infinities chased after Yuuya.

"You're getting annoying, Bridges!" Keith shouted.

"I'll take that as a compliment sir." He grinned as he pulled into a tight turn and dashed at an angle to both machines, responding to their barrages with a salvo of his own. There was a brief curse and Yuuya noticed how one of the Raptors dumped its AMWS.

"Is that you Leon? You still move like a cow. Aren't your Jap ancestors meant to have a saying about this?"

"Fuck. You." Leon seethed on the comms. "Like you can talk."

"How about you come over here and fight me, instead of dancing like a little bitch? Or is that all you Yellows can do?"

One of the Raptors charged at him, it's PB knives drawn.

"Dammit Kuze! He's provoking you, you moron!" Yuuya smiled. He had one chance now. Only one chance to finish this match.

…_not yet…not yet…NOW!_

His own Raptor charged straight into Leon, Yuuya's mech left leg curled. Gaining altitude, he dropped it on Leon, slamming it into his armor before switching to full jump.

"Oh Fuck." Keith said.

F-22A was meant to possess a supercruise ability –that is, to reach Mach speed without usage of afterburners. And that it did – so when afterburners were set to maximum for even a moment, it meant that Raptor was _really_ fast.

Faster than any human could react, or for a computer system to acquire lock.

The last think Keith saw before his eye sensors were painted red was a black blur.

"CP to Infinity-1. Critical damage suffered. Cease all movement."

* * *

Yuuya was beginning to feel tired as he pushed his TSF to the limit as Leon's Raptor continued to stick to his tail. Both of the back AMWS kept firing, but no bullets hit. Whatever he might think of Leon, that man wasn't a bad pilot.

"W-where's your lecturing now, mutt?" Leon panted as he struggled to keep up with Yuuya. No matter how close he got to that man, he just wouldn't give up and slipped away again. "You were always good at being jerk."

"_Me?_ You're the one who keeps rubbing it in my face that being Japanese is so damm awesome. But like everyone from that place, you can't do shit by yourself, and never thank for the help!"

"Hahahaha. You're just as ignorant as all the people who give _you_ the hard time. You think I have it easy? But at least I have the back bone to accept who I really am. Unlike you. And that's your problem!"

Leon kept lecturing him as he kept up with Yuuya and begun to close in. Yuuya cursed and pulled his TSF into a tight reverse, but Leon was faster. His blows landed quick and fast. Catching up the slowing TSF as it just begun to air-break, he pushed it down.

Yuuya twisted his controls, but to no avail. Almost all TSFs had an automatic reply to high-speed large impact – mainly that they would freeze up. It was meant as a both anti-fall and anti-collision mechanism to limit the damage joints would suffer when two machines flew into each other at "non-lethal" speeds, or when inexperienced pilots fell into the ground.

Of course, the risk that the failsafe would active in BETA dogfight meant that for most combat-ready machines, the mechanism was linked to both central gyros and speedometers. When the machine became too unstable in flight or begun to stall, the controls would begun to get sluggish, until completely locked out. The theory behind this was that it prevented pilots from pulling into turns or position that would cause the TSF to fall or stall in flight.

However, in this particular case, Leon used that to his advantage, putting Yuuya in a position where his TSF computers temporarily froze his controls. Capitalizing on that, he pushed his machine down, causing Yuuya to crash-land.

Leons' Raptor landed above him, his knives held backwards. Truly, the sight was more evocative of a warrior ready to execute his hated enemy, than a "friendly" spar.

"At least I…" Leon breathed. "Have the pride to acknowledge who I am. Because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? Your own petty revenge on the Japanese. But you will _never_ be American. ..and the longer you keep shitting on your linage, the more people will hate you. After all…if a man does not even trust his own birth, how can he himself be trusted?"

"And you know what's your fault? _You talk too damn much."_

As if to punctuate Yuuya's words, a burst of 120mm rounds slammed into Leon's TSF from behind it, rocking it as massive paint capsules burst, splashing bright red liquid over the cobalt paint.

'CP to Infinity-2. Critical damage suffered to cockpit block. Your TSF has been destroyed. Cease all movement."

Leon sat shocked in his cockpit. This was impossible. It simply wasn't possible that Sharon would let herself be beaten in such a short span of time…!

"…Do you get it now, Leon?" Yuuya's voice was only framed in the resentment that he was used to. It sounded more…resigned, but somewhat amused. It _reeked _of pity. "Just now…you fought to stick it up to me, and prove that I was being wrong. Your commander was right – I provoked you to break formation. And I knew that it would work; otherwise I would have never proposed such operation. Anyway" he shook his head "As long as you continue to fly with such a pride for your motivation, you will never be able to defeat the BETA." Yuuya's golden eyes hardened "Your idiocy will one day commit everything to ruin. Mission, squadron and _yourself._ As long as you don't realize this, you're useless to us."

The other Raptor got back on its feet, before jumping away back to the base.

"Why don't you think about that for a while?"

* * *

Far, far away, Wilma Bishop smiled as the command of Nellis Military Base and Area 51 silently started at the video feeds. She had to admit, Yuuya's idea was nice, hammered the point they were trying to make and most of all – it gave her enormous satisfaction wherever the Green's nose was just a little bit scrubbed.

Undoubtedly now, Anderson would get his political ammunition for continuing Orbital Diver program, and make the TSF competition changes that Army command was mulling since early 90s. All in a days of hard work.

"_Even so…that must have hit close to home for him…maybe I should get a gift basket or something…?"_

* * *

Yuuya sighed, as he let the cool streams of water wash down along his body. It was a long day and he was dead tired – and so this single, cool shower would probably be the last nice thing he would do today.

And probably the only one.

"_After all…if a man does not even trust his own birth, how can he himself be trusted…?"_

He scowled at that. Some part of his of course knew that Leon was not without reason, and that a lot of his hatred towards the man was irrational.

But Yuuya simply couldn't agree with him. He refused to go down from the path he had chosen for life, nor would he ever accepted begin who he was.

But just sometimes, he had to ask himself: Was it worth it?

Because if he wasn't Japanese, and Americans refused to see him as one of them, then who was he?

"_Child of the two worlds huh?" _he bitterly though. _"Floating in a void from one cause to another…I suppose, in a way, that's a life to, but is it really worth my effort? Shades of grey goes only so far…people who declare themselves to one cause in particular will always have more friends than drifters like me…But then, if I abandon my path in life then I will be just like…that man…"_

Yuuya gritted his teeth. He hated this feeling. Thinking about his ethnicity _always_ induced this pathetically esoteric-something lingo that he absolutely couldn't get out of. And especially after he just lectured a bunch of test pilots on pride. The irony is probably drowning in its saliva by now.

" …_Its not wrong to be stubborn. But, I can't stand stubbornness for stubbornness' sake. This isn't about your past Yuuya, it's about you being_ afraid _to acknowledge yourself. There's nothing wrong with having many sides to you…but I guess, that's too much to be expected out of you."_

He punched the wall in anger as he tried to forget this one memory…his last conversation with Sharon. Despite him muddling up the details to Vincent, Yuuya remembered that day well…too well, in fact.

Back then…he wondered if Sharon wasn't simply being right for a change. Even before he signed up for the Space Force and met Max or Colonel, he considered that.

But he simply rejected that when he found her with Leon.

He felt so…humiliated back then. And then, it led to anger. Not a passionate outburst, but a seething, lasting hatred, that colored everything he thought of.

Yuuya sighed as he turned off the water tap. _Letting Leon's petty taunts get to me when I started it…Jesus, I'm fucking pathetic. If Wildy saw me like this, she's probably rape my sorry ass and toss it into nearest rubbish bin."_

The life went on, and as long as the there were BETA to kill, there was a hope he could make himself more productive than engage in semi-philosophical bull over his own identity . _What do tomorrow, do after tomorrow as Spark would say"_

Well, at least no-one so far had forced him to work with the Japanese, and his commanders had the better sense then to press the subject.

Here's to hoping, it won't change, right?

* * *

_02/02/2000_

"White Fang 5 to White Fang 1! My left engine is his, I can't-" The rest of the sentence was cut off by a sharp buzz that made one Yui Takamura wince. "_This makes fourth…"_

A small circle of the Japanese Imperial Royal Guards stood their ground, a mixture of Type-00s and Type-94s blasting and slashing away at their inhumane foes. BETA corpses piled-up around them and barrels grew white-hot, becoming seemingly the only illumination in the vast, underground cavern.

"This is White-Fang 3. Numbers 6 and 7 have been lost. We're unable to fix the wire to Central Command. Receiving no communication for any allied units."

"_Damn it…Is this the furthers we can go?" _

"W-white Fang 4 to One! We're detecting massive seismic flux…it seems like an incoming Destroyer charge!"

Yui clicked her tongue. It seemed like fate offered her a chance to fight through to another day, yet denied her the prize she was after.

"Listen up!" She resolutely shouted into the squadron's comms. "We will now commence a general retreat. Units 4,8,11 and 12 will follow 3. Me and 2 will be the rear guard. The plan is as follows – as the Destroyers approach us, group led by 3 will fire explosive rounds at curved trajectory in-between them! Then me and Shimazu will fire directly at front of BETA phalanx. If successful, it should scatter the Destroyers. The Shiranui group will then use this to escape into the Drift-95 and enter Shaft 14 and proceed to withdraw. We will cover!"

It took less than seconds for pilots to grasp her strategy.

"They're here" White Fang 2, Shimazu Kurou, noted.

"All units, fire on my command!" Yui yelled, as her yellow Takemikazuchi reloaded its guns.

"Destroyers coming in at 1500 meters. Multiple BETA flanking!" 3 reported.

"You're clear to use secondary guns to suppress the flankers. But do not fire at the main target!"

"Destroyers at 1000 mark!"

"NOT YET!...950…900…Fire! All units fire!"

At her command, the 120mm guns of Japanese TSFs howled, ejecting their lethal payload. Traversing the distance in seconds, the shots begun to fall amidst the charging horde, which spread through the sea of BETA like tsunami through a clam beach.

The high-explosive shells were not great against Destroyers – although powerful, they simply lacked the penetration power to break their carapace. But that would have mattered only if Yui chose exterminate them. As rounds flew in between the BETA, they detonated into ground, kicking-up plumes of dust, rock and occasional stream of blood. The Destroyers wobbled as the ground beneath them suddenly stopped being solid, which Yui and her wingmate utilized to fire more 120mm shells underneath them. A series of explosions rocked the BETA, throwing them up and down like helpless toy trains.

"NOW! The way is clear! Break through!"

The Shiranui squadron instantly raced forward, raising into flight just above to immobilized Destroyers, and out-of-reach for other BETA, while the final two Type-00s made sure that none would get too smart to change that. As Yui's blood-stained machine begun to withdraw, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Getting to 3000 meter mark within a simulation with no support and only 50% losses was a good result.

And that devastated her all the more.

It seemed like no matter what she did, the Imperial forces just couldn't win.

"_Even though we managed to improve the Shiranui Mk. 1-C…even its' power can get us only so far and we just don't have the resources to spare to mass-produce the Takemikazuichi…even if command agreed to it."_

As much as she loathed to admit it, Japan was reaching the end of the line.

As the simulation broke apart around her into streams of code and pixels, she tightened the grip on her control sticks.

"_Despite everything we lost…we have no more leverage against the BETA then when we started…Before long, we will either have to beg for help, or loose…"_

And no matter how she wished it to be otherwise, she knew it would most likely occur within her life time.

But what would it take for the world to help Japan? Europe was in even worse situation, and despite being sympathetic, it simply did not have resources to spare. Rest of Asian block was worse-off than Japan, and she didn't even want to think of what kind of outrageous demands those UFC rascals would demand.

And then, there was America.

Yui scoffed. American help was rarely worth anything. It took years for them to even deploy their orbital corps to war, as if America was in a world without BETA at all. Yui figured that such kind of help was both unneeded, and wouldn't likely be given anyway, unless havens itself would fall on that nation.

She had absolutely no idea how correct that curse would be.

* * *

_03/02/2000_

It looked more like a doughnut then a space station.

A ring with arms connecting to a main central shaft, the station was nearly 600 meters in diameter and 200 in "height". It's inside? A dozen of maintenance tunnels, miles of capable, sensor nodes, communication matrixes and computers. But most of all, dozens of ballistic missiles, most of which were nuclear-tipped.

The SHADOW – a system of satellites built around Earth at geosynchronous orbit, it was meant as Earth's first line of defense. The numerous satellites, linked together via datalinks to numerous space telescopes and spy satellites, could detect arriving Hive core units from the Moon (or theoretically, Mars or other planetary body as well), and launch nuclear missiles to blow them off-course. It was an invisible shield meant to stop the situation on Earth from getting even worse.

Too bad it was built only after BETAs had arrived on Earth in force.

Regardless, now that it existed, the network was one of the most crucial defense systems for all mankind. As such, it was nominally under the control of United Nations Space Command, which ensured that all nations received appropriate "coverage" from the satellites. However, as most nations simply did not have the resources to build or maintain those stations, it meant that in practice, the construction, and operation, of SHADOW fell to the shoulders of few specific nations.

Such as the United States of America.

As a mainly American initiative, the U.S Space Command was responsible for _de facto_ construction of all installations, and the maintenance of the most of them – the only real exception were the satellites positioned above the former USSR, whose government had categorically denied any sort of "Western interference" over the protection of their homeland, never mind the fact that they had almost no resources to spare to maintain said objects. Luckily though, the Soviet military command had a little more sense, and at least managed to strike a deal with the U.N to manage the satellites for them.

Not that the maintenance was really such an impossible task – in reality, most of the time it meant a routine resupply of on-board cruise missiles, checking targeting systems and status of CIWS installed on-board. Nothing really serious, but something that in itself was meant to be done often – and only the U.N and U.S had the ability to operate nearly indefinitely in Space.

And so, the crew of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_ slowly, patiently and methodically worked around the surface of the vast station.

Technically, each station was tactically independent, ran by its own OS rather than any human operator. This was done to ensure that even if contact with ground was lost, the SHADOW would continue to operate. As concerns such as "impartiality" and "security" became apparent in space industry, the systems were modified to be completely closed – they could not have been tampered through re-programming, and they could easily override any manual controls given by would-be human operators on board. With this, the SHADOW became a truly impervious, impartial and sleepless guardian.

But there were ways.

After all, if boulders would clog up the river, it would have the change the course. Similar, if one knew how SHADOW satellite was built, it was possible to manually restructure the very switchboards that made the system. It wasn't hacked into, broken into or even destroyed. It was _changed_. A simple change, replaced modem and different connection of cables made sure that equation of 1.11123968.8 came back to central computer as 1.11123968.9

And that, made all the difference.

The crew of _Endeavour _ worked silently. They all knew their appointed task, and knew that while space was silent, the radio sphere was not.

As a lone astronaut mounted back the last panel, he gave a universal "thumbs up" sign to his partners at a station 12 meters ahead.

The final changes were done.

The golden anti-sun screen hidden the man's face as he stared into the depths of Creation itself, cursing the existence of such monstrous enemy, and begging his God for forgiveness that he would never receive.

The SHADOW satellite 10-AB would now process incoming target coordinates in 1 hour, 45 minutes longer than normally.

The SHADOW shield was cracked.

Right above District Columbia, United States of America.

More than 600000 people were now at the mercy of fate.

* * *

/PRIORITY MESSAGE:

CERBERUS IS AWAKE, REPEAT, CERBERUS IS AWAKE.

ALL HEADS AT STANDBY. HADES OPENING IMMINENT.

GOD HELP US ALL.

/END LINE

_**Author's Note: **_ Man, did that take me long to write. Well, there we have it, the latest chapter. We're now getting to the first major Wham! I spent a lot of this episode (maybe even a bit too long) trying to draw up the relationship between Leon and Yuuya. The way I see it, they are in a way opposite – Yuuya is in complete rejection of his Japanese side, while Leon has some pride in it, and while Yuuya seems like jerk, Leon is at least vaguely likeable. But at the same time, Yuuya can realize that's he being wrong, while Leon is being stuck in his thinking. The dogfight idea that Yuuya had was meant to be less of score settling, and more of Yuuya demonstrating that he learned to adapt, and that Leon, if he and his teammates have to as well, that is if they are to be _useful_. Hence why Max was the one actually making the kills. Of course, Yuuya kinda lacks distance to himself here, so he's still hung up about the taunts _and then_ gets hung up about being hung up. It's a self-sustaining system! Man, I'm too proud of that.

Well, and I wanted an excuse for Raptor's to beat the shit out of each other.

Also, because some of the anime-only viewers might wonder: Infinities are _not _OCs. They are Total Eclipse characters that come in a long way down the plot and are rather relevant to Yuuya's past. Since we're doing his past _first_, they came up now.

That said, Maximilian J. Grey, Wilma Bishop and Alice are my OCs. Along with current SecD, CIA Director and et al in White House.

In case of anyone wondering, yes, Max is higher-up then Yuuya in military hierarchy, by virtue of being longer on active service than Yuuya. Not that you could tell since he is not completely normal…well, neither is Wilma.

Next-up: Infinities actually _do_ get useful, Washington goes *poof!* and world wonders if not to collect on some old sins. It's a Stage of Apocalypse.


	6. Cerberus Plot

**Disclaimer: **I do _not_ own Muv-Luv franchise.

It was a calm day.

Captain John Davis quietly sipped his coffee while two nearby technicians were telling some kind of silly story about their barbeque last weekend.

In other words, all was well with Cheyenne Mountain Complex, the heart and soul of the US Space Force and NORAD. The vast facility, drilled within the base of the mountain, kept dozens of hundreds of computers which monitored the satellites in orbit and the radars which watched the sky. Originally built by the Americans when the Cold War began, it was meant to act as a protected stronghold which housed their main air defense headquarters, as well as to prevent the Soviets from completely destroying America's ability to launch nuclear missiles or control its vast air defense network. And although Soviet Union was now one of America's few allies, the presence of BETA meant that America considered Cheyenne nowadays as a prudent investment, and gradually expanded the facility. In particular, it was seen as an excellent place to keep all the vast, bothersome-but-necessary systems of man and machines that kept the Space Force running.

"Hmmm, that seems odd," one of the technicians whispered as she browsed through one of her computer screens, before turning to Davis. "Sir, spy satellite AS-104A has detected an unusually large mass within Earth's orbit."

Davis furrowed his brow. Under normal circumstances, the spy satellites were generally turned groundwards – visually observing BETA movements and Hive developments, safe from the eyes of any Laser-class. However, from time to time these satellites would be turned to skies, meant to supplement the vast network already in place. For this reason, many received small, but incremental upgrades that made them marginally useful in deep space observation as well.

However, from time to time they would make some sort of unpleasant mistake that Davis would have to clean up.

He sighed as he quickly browsed through just-uploaded report. The signatures were consistent with Hive cores – he had seen enough drills and actual SHADOW intercepts to know that much at a glance. Only that it made no sense – the coordinates indicated that the Cores were just above one of the SHADOW stations – in which case it or any of its adjacent satellites should have detected it long ago.

He sighed. It wasn't the first time this particular satellite was giving them grief. But instructions were instructions – every potential Hive contact was to be checked by ground team.

"Can someone check the station 10-AB? One of the spy satellites says there's a Core right above it."

One of the joking technicians quickly brought up a screen on his own computer. "Done. Standard reports so far. It must be going haywire again, that spy piece of junk."

"Did you check the cam feeds?" His colleague suddenly spoke. "You know that you forget to do it sometimes."

The man sighed before punching in a combination on his keyboard, and waited. Then waited. And waited some more.

But nothing happened.

"That's odd… Sir, I have no camera feed from 10-AB. I got zilch, I mean, I have nothing at all."

And then suddenly, an alarm rang. It was a clear, high-pitched sound, that Davis knew all too well.

"Incoming Hive alert! Station 10-BC is picking up…Holy Mary Mother of God…!"

Davis's computer automatically received any priority updates, it was almost hard-wired to do so. As the emergency window popped up on the screen, his blood grew cold.

"Someone get me the Pentagon. On the hot line." His own voice sounded incredibly quiet and trembling. "We're in deep shit."

* * *

"I still don't understand" the mechanic spoke as a number of men and women worked around the air systems. Each wore a distinct, dark blue raid jacket, with a silver badge over the left breast pocket, with bright yellow letters forming "N.C.I.S" on the back.

"I thought you people were Navy?" he continued, glancing curiously at the agent he was escorting.

"Well, you know how it goes. You get a spy inside Navy, that then goes into Army base…" the handsome young investigator stood next to him, fiddling with his cap. "…Hypothetically. I would say what is going on, but…"

"Operational security. We get that all the time around here. It's fine. Though I do wonder why…"

The man never finished what he was saying, as his colleague swiftly plunged a knife into his neck, while decking him to the ground with a swift kick. There was a flurry of activity as suddenly several Army technicians instantly went down under the punches and knives of the "inspectors".

The younger man quickly looked around his troops, trying to not stare too hard at the American bodes. The troopers all nodded to him in a curt salute, while pulling out automatic weapons and gas masks out of their bags that supposedly had "sensitive laboratory equipment". The man pulled out a small walkie-talkie, while one of the soldiers handed him his gas mask.

"DiNozzo to David. We've secured the air conditioning to the lower levels. We will have the gas in-" he checked his watch. "-ten. Standby"

* * *

There was a flurry of activity as large burly men barged into the oval office and nearly forcibly dragged out the President of the United States. Gregory W. Ashford frantically looked around, before noticing that the men were in fact, the Secret Service agents of his Protective Detail. He also noticed the uniformed Army Major who was one of the Military Aides to the President. As always, the Major was carrying the nuclear football – the briefcase containing nuclear launch codes and retaliatory strike options – but this time, he was also armed.

"What's going on for Christ's sake!" he demanded as the men shuffled him through one of the countless escape tunnels.

"Mr. President, we've just received warning from the Pentagon-" the army officer squeezed in behind him "-that the SHADOW network above DC is combat ineffective. To top it off, we have incoming Hive cores. We're evacuating you out of the Washington, Sir."

The President looked at him like he made a really bad joke.

The Major sighed. "I _really_ wish I was making this up Mr. President."

Ashford paled.

* * *

_Early evening, somewhere above Colorado, USA_

Secretary of Defense David Anderson sighed as he fanned himself within the bowels of the mighty airplane. With advances in jet engine technology, materials sciences and airframe construction, it became possible to build airplanes larger than a proverbial box of matches.

Of course, with appearance of the Laser-class threat, the value of airplanes plummeted greatly. After all, trains were cheaper to run, and there was a lesser chance that they would be flash-fried by a lucky alien.

Of course, that applied only to nations on the frontlines – both of the Americas were "mostly" safe from this threat, and could freely develop hubs of aerial transport.

However, while being unbelievably quick, airplanes remained incredibly costly, leaving only governments and hideously rich conglomerates as the only parties capable of regularly maintaining aerial routes of transportation.

Anderson frowned as a phone rang next to him. Wireless phones, unthinkable nearly a decade earlier, were now a reality, in no small part due to TSF technology advances.

Truly, the world loved its irony.

"Anderson here," he replied, as he wondered what could have been important enough to call him in the middle of a flight.

His face suddenly paled, as the person on the other side explained the situation. "_This is a joke. A very sick, sick joke._"

He turned to his aide, his voice uncharacteristically heavy and hollow. "Talk to the pilot. Tell him if we're not in Colorado Springs in 10 minutes, he can start looking for another job."

* * *

_Same time, somewhere near the District of Columbia_

The majestic form of Air Force One cut through the darkening skies, as its pilots worked feverishly to transport their precious cargo to a safer area. Built as a VIP transport for the President, the wide body passenger aircraft was gradually upgraded into a flying command post, connected to all major US military and civilian control networks. Even if all major command centers were destroyed, Air Force One could serve as a mobile headquarters for the world's largest superpower. And the fact that the aircraft moved by, well, _flying_, it meant that it could easily travel to an altitude where most missiles and TSFs would not threaten it – only the infernal Laser-class were a true danger to Air Force One's safety.

It was an illusion of safety – and like all illusions, it had to eventually fade.

Eight sleek TSFs swiftly rose from above early evening clouds, smoothly entering formation beneath and behind the lumbering plane. They were painted light gray and black, the standard color scheme for US Navy Tomcats.

"Air Force One, this is the 8492nd Fighter Squadron. We have been diverted from our joint exercises with the Army to assist with your escort until another unit takes over. We will try to make up for the lost time."

"Understood, 8492nd. Transmitting flight plan. Good to have you with us."

The F-14s moved in a half-moon pattern, staying level just a little beneath the craft.

The flight leader silently breathed out as his craft flew directly behind the white and blue craft. He knew this wouldn't be easy from the start – though only now did he realize the magnitude of what he was about to do. But there was no way of going back. It had to be done.

As his co-pilot adjusted, for the final time, the targeting algorithms for their Tomcat, acquiring a solid lock, he inhaled and reported only a single word.

"Skyfall."

The F-14s swiftly dispersed around the lumbering craft, before bringing their rifles to bear.

Air Force One's crew and passengers never knew what hit them.

36mm depleted uranium rounds plowed through the hull like hot knife through butter, blowing off windows and depressurizing the cabin, turning the cockpit and passenger compartment into a charnel house. Then, two of the Tomcats aimed at the aircraft's wings, another two aimed at the fuselage, and together they fired a 120mm high explosive round each. The massive wings erupted in an explosion of fire and shrapnel, setting off a chain reaction, while the fuselage disappeared in a fireball. Air Force One rapidly broke apart, the once-majestic aircraft now a rapidly falling ball of fire and wreckage.

So ended the second term of the Ashford administration.

* * *

Why?

Why was this happening?

The woman pressed the makeshift handkerchief to her mouth harder as she tried to stop herself from inhaling the deadly fumes, to no avail.

The room was filled with moans of agony as people twisted on the floor. Her stomach twisted and lungs burned with the most intensive pain she had ever felt in her life.

_"Someone…we have to…call…"_

Her vision begun to dim and her legs spasmed as another wave of pain assaulted her. She tumbled over another dying comrade. Her mind painfully danced before her eyes, and she fell, her head colliding with the floor. The painful substance in the air burned her skin and every breath brought agony to her lungs and throat

It was then when she heard the soft hiss of an opening door, and felt a trill of hope. Surely, someone must have gotten help-

The quiet staccato of suppressed machine pistols reached her almost immediately, and the moans of her coworkers began to fade away.

Her eyes widened in fear despite the overwhelming pain and the desire to vomit. Almost instinctively, she tried to reach for her sidearm.

But control over one's body can be deceptive. Her muscles contracted as another wave of pain assaulted her. Her bloodstream no longer carried oxygen, her heart begun to stop. Her vision blurred and then cut off her as eyes blacked out from the sheer pain.

Then she felt no more.

The operative above her mechanically reloaded his suppressed MP5N, while turning his head towards another of his colleagues just behind him.

"Report to Alpha. Primary missile command site sized. We're implementing the Cerberus plan now."

* * *

_Washington D.C, USA_

"What is that, off in the distance?"

The people of Washington D.C rose their heads, as two bright objects cut through the now ultramarine evening skies. Couples stopped their strolls and drivers looked out through their windows. Everyone wondered just what those lights were.

They were bright, burning. Their size and lowering position on the horizon meant that they couldn't be stars. Were they planes then?

But planes did not burn. And they were still too big for HSSTs, while burning orbital debris would be smaller. The people wondered if this wasn't a meteor or a comet – the burning tail would indicate as much. But then the savvy observers would pick up on the fact that a comet's tail would be blue – and they normally didn't head straight towards you.

Then, just for a moment, the sky boomed. Three smaller lights raced against the falling stars. They were dim – they shone, yet their light lacked the fire of the objects that came before. It was… unnatural. No one could explain it, but all those that watched that frightening show could tell that those three lights did not belong to this Earth.

Suddenly, they blew up. It was an explosion of light – but unlike a nuclear bomb, this light did not blind. It lasted only for a second, an eternal long second during which people watched in amazement as the world was basked in the brightest light. And then, a roaring sphere of pure _nothingness_ surged forth. It devoured the sky, the earth and everyone around. People barely registered as roads exploded with craggy spikes of rock, homes caved in and sudden gravity vortexes shredded couples into a bloody mist. A pandemonium broke out for a second, as an unstoppable wave of black - pure, light-absorbing blackness - ate into Washington DCand tore forth across its surroundings. Men tried to flee and run, but to no avail. Everything within the radius of 20km around the city was vaporized almost instantly.

Then, the sphere collapsed, as if imploding on itself. An overpowering roar and blast of wind that proclaimed a new world order.

And then the world fell silent, an eerie wind weeping over the scorched earth that became the grave of hundreds of thousands of people.


	7. Chapter 4: Stage of Apocalypse

**Author's Note: **Muv-Luv and its associated trademarks still do not belong to me, but to their respective owners.

"_What happened that day would not be easy to explain to someone who had not been in this country from the start. It's not to do with race, or creed or political preference. It had to do with atmosphere, with our society. Even in a world dominated by never-ending war for survival, we had little contact with it – our homes were warm and lit, our bellies full, our paychecks and trains arrived on time. War? We knew of war, but to all good folks it was something of bizarre fantasy world _beyond the ocean_. We never have thought of it otherwise. Until that day._

_We have fostered our belief by being spared the devastation. We had seen what happened across fields of Europe and mountains of Japan, and we believed that we have survived. By divine providence or pure luck – we were left standing and rest of the world wasn't._

_Until that day…when the hammer of destiny smashed everything we held dear."_

Sergeant Jim Hale (ret. Army) _"The Mighty Motley – Defenders of Maryland"_ 2012 Edition

* * *

It was quiet.

All too quiet.

The entire room was seemingly dead. It was full of people, but it seemed as if no-one had any _life_ left in them. Only ashen-colored despair and helplessness.

David Anderson sighed as he moved his hand through his short jet-black hair. _"This is supposed to be the most powerful nation on Earth and we're around like cretins."_

Of course he couldn't blame them – in one short moment, entire Washington D.C and surrounding area simply disappeared. Along with entire American political and military leadership. And all the precious memorials, symbols and above all – hope for a better tomorrow.

Objectively, not even during the War of Independence, did America saw such a threat to its very existence. And with their leadership gone, it was only natural that people behaved the way they did now.

"_Well, not entire leadership_"

The longer he stared at the charred crater that used to be Washington, the heavier his suit became. It slowly occurred to him that he wasn't just within one of the largest remaining American command hubs, but he was most likely the most senior federal official alive.

And that put things into perspective.

He forced his tired mind to think. He scanned the maps and displays – assessment of casualties, disruption to communication, status of all available military units, vectors of the hole in SHADOW network and the probable location where Hive fell.

Through decades of military service and political maneuvering, Anderson brought his mind to bear. One by one, the gears started to turn.

Good. Now he was doing something. All that remained was the final step.

"Gentlemen" His voice was quiet and overly hoarse, but in the stillness of the command room, it carried with nearly perfect clarity.

"As of current hour, we can safely assume that both President and most of his Cabinet, along with Joint Chiefs of Staff and majority on Congress are dead. As the most senior official alive, I am assuming direct control over Presidency." Almost every pair of eyes in the room was on him right now. It was now or never. It would be the toughest battle in his career. Not of men and machines, not of arguments and political gains. It was battle for souls.

"Our capital was destroyed, along with all that it contained. We lost friends, lovers and families. We had our hearts ripped out from us from blue sky." His gaze hardened as it dragged across the room.

"But we're still alive. There can be no greater achievement. Our enemy has struck, but he had failed to destroy us. And we have a duty – duty to all those lost, to stand up.

We may have long since forgotten it, but this nation had faced disasters in the past. And it wasn't our military prowess, knowledge or wealth that thwarted them. It was will. As long as we will, then events can be realized! Do not cry in despair! Cry in happiness and with vengeance! Fight for those that we lost, and for what we will gain. We can win. Against all adversities, we will win, because we accept no defeat! If it needs to be done, then I will go to BETAs myself and beat them with my own hands! But not before beat you all into fighting shape! Not before you all stand up and show the world the will of our nation! Give us future of give us death! Let's show loud and clear to those inhumane monsters that they just chose a wrong country to fuck with!"

There were claps and there were cheers. But most importantly, people stood up. They were no longer passive. They had a purpose now – something to fight for. And in revenge for their disrupted lives, they would give it their all.

"Mr. President" One of the remaining military officers saluted Anderson, as his subordinates lined up behind him. "What are your orders?"

* * *

_South-Western Maryland, I(Impact)-Day plus 5 hours_

"I'm cold Sarge"

Sergeant Mike Walters scanned the surroundings through his screen as the gunner of his M1A1 Abrams complained. It was winter already, and the sky had long-since became dark, fresh snow piling up across southern hills of Maryland.

If someone had told him as recent as a week ago that he's have to fight BETA – in his own homeland in fact – Mike would have laughed. There was no way that BETA would have made it this far.

Or so they all thought.

It had been a shock at first – the horrifying news of an entire city, _capital_ city no-less, lost in the overwhelming explosion. He still remembered it well. Although his posting was well away, the vivid, unnatural aura was seen miles and miles away.

For what seemed like hours, everyone was in too much of a shock to act, after first confirmations arrived. It just seemed to unreal. Things like that happened in books, but not in real life.

But it did happen, and worst of all, it was far from over.

Mike preferred not to guess at just what were the odds of no less but two hives landing on top of the United States. At least one of them was supposed to be destroyed.

As for the other one…

"Move your legs from time to time Jimmy. Just don't push the fire button by accident."

It had been hours since the last scouting party reported their approach to what was supposed to be the Hive's location.

With radio (or any other wireless) communications suddenly unreliable for undetermined reason, and no idea of whether the chain of command still existed, the local military officials co-ordinated a unit of National Guard and regular military forces to investigate.

And if possible, slow the enemy down.

At least this time, he reassured himself that they had TSF back-up: a whole unit of F-16C Fighting Falcons escorting their tank unit, and dozen more scattered throughout the area.

He hoped that would have been enough to keep them alive.

"Sarge." It was the gunner again. "I'm scared."

"Me too son…me too" Sergeant reluctantly admitted as he leaned back.

"Really?" The gunner seemed surprised.

"Of course I am. Did you think I was in any wars before this?" It wasn't a good joke, but it swiftly drew attention from whatever bothered the gunner.

"Uhhh, well I…"

"…Never mind Corporal. Just focus on your job. Think about…you're going to fire that gun. _Not_ about how you will aim, or what you'll be firing at. Just to motion. What angle and so on…just like on exercises. Focus on the job. Don't think. Too much. "

"Yes sir"

"Romeo Battalion" a voice suddenly rang out through the comms. "We're detecting approaching Group of BETA. Composition is not entirely clear at this time, but there seems to be no Laser classes among the herd. Repeat, no Laser classes detected."

Mike would ask how they'd know that if they weren't sure of what was supposed to be inside that herd, but then again, with all those TSFs flying, the Laser-class would be having a shooting fest if they really were there.

Not that it made him any happier.

"Romeo Lead, Copy that. All unit, stand by for long-range engagement. Load up explosives!"

The line of tanks suddenly stopped, their lumbering guns raising into air. The TSFs spread out, moving to the flanks much like cavalry of old.

The target data begun to flow through the squadron data link – the technology was far too effective to be kept only to TSFs, and was quickly converted to other military hardware as well.

Mike tensed involuntarily as he scanned the area ahead through low-light visor, searching for enemy to kill.

And then, he had seen it.

It was still far, but he could see it clearly. It was a wide _tide_, swiftly falling up and down over the hills.

It was seemingly endless, like an ocean spreading far beyond the horizon.

Only it was filled with vicious, inhuman aliens.

"_My God. How are we even supposed to stop this?"_

"All units! Fire!"

The ground shook as Abrams fired their volley, the bright stingers of the shells arching across the sky before impacting the targets. Mike could see the plumes of smoke and fire as the ground exploded behind the enemy vanguard, scattering the force – but only for a moment. Just like water, the BETA flew back into the formation. The wholes slowly filled up, like puddles after a rain.

"_Well, this is going to be a shitty day"._

The guns fired again.

* * *

_Space Station Citadel, U.N Security Council Chambers, I-Day plus 7 hours 35 minutes_

Secretary-General Walter Mortimer Evans quietly sighed as he overseen the latest meeting of Security Council abord the _Citadel_. In addition to French, English, Chinese (Taiwan) seats, there were also delegates from Imperial Japan, Germany and Brazil. Surprisingly, the Soviet seat was taken for once, by non-descriptive party official who identified himself as Yakhaev. By contrast, American seat was conspicuously absent.

Which was understandable, given the circumstances.

"Gentlemen" Evans drummed his fingers against the conference table "The longer we delay the worse the situation gets. We have to decide on –anything- , right now."

"It's obvious" French representative cut in as he leaned back into his chair. "The Hive needs to be destroyed. No matter the cost."

British and German representatives resisted the urge to roll their eyes. _That_ was the one thing everyone agreed on. The actual question was _how_?

"Currently, the Hive is still in its developing stage, isn't it?" The Japanese representative slowly replied. "Which means…it should not be accompanied by Laser-class BETA…any sort of Laser-class."

_Ah. That's what it's all about, isn't it?_

"Absolutely out of the question" German immediately shot back. "We will not be using nuclear option."

"But Americans _did_" Frenchman swiftly interjected. "Now twice, given that they apparently used G-Bomb on their own soil."

"We do not approve of _any_ use of nuclear weapons…or something worse. We did so back then, and we will do so now." German narrowed his eyes as he pointed his fingers at the other diplomat. "And we have no idea whether the use of G-bomb was intended…given the circumstances."

"Ah yes. Washington. All the more reason we have to move decisively. We don't even have any idea if America still has government"

Oh, now that was going too far. Sure, the first reports indicated that the town was gone along with more than half of current American leadership. But America was not stupid. It was dumb, but not stupid. Plans existed to deal with that sort of thing. Chains of command, an intricate web of civilian and military leadership hierarchies, crafted from Fifties to survive something much more horrifying then a destruction of a mere single town. An important town, but still just a town.

"Now, now" The Taiwanese diplomat, and the only woman in the room, finally voiced herself. "That is rather harsh assessment to make. And we also have to acknowledge that an indiscriminate nuclear attack on America may warrant unneeded resentment from one of the most populous and well-armed nations on the planet." She cautiously eyed everyone in the room. "And we hardly can afford such a turn of events."

That was pretty much the crux of the issue. There were many more people – including the Frenchman and the Japanese that wanted to put a nuke in United States of America. But it's just so happened that said nation was the only remaining superpower, and had just enough manpower and resources to send them all to hell.

And the cruel, and unfortunate truth, was that nations such as Canada or France were simply not worth bothering with. They lacked the science infrastructure that helped to push forward TSF development, or the same pool of manpower from which U.S and U.N military recruited by the hundreds. Loss of Canada was hardly felt in the grand scheme of things, barring the odious political fallout.

But the loss of United States would make defense of Earth impossible.

Even if U.S maintained it's isolationist policy, the world simply could not anymore survive without American capacity to manufacture and replace TSFs, tanks and guns. And all major control and command U.N structures were not based in New Zealand or Brazil, were within the USA.

But at the same time, the point stood that USA could not have been allowed to fall to BETA advance. And a Hive so deep within their territory a sign of just that to many dignitaries. Many of them felt that it was safe to destroy a part of the country, if only to save it from BETA invasion. Never mind that like a spoiled child, America would never appreciate the "help". It might even return it.

And that was the trap that Evans had to avoid.

"Perhaps" he carefully begun, taking a sip of his tea "Inaction for a time being _is_ a course of action."

There was a grumble from the table, some in acknowledgement, some in protest.

"At any rate, we should give Americans at least several more hours to re-establish contact with us. Or for the matter, we should wait until our representatives in New York reply back."

"How about a compromise then?" The Brazilian minister suddenly asked. The large and lumbering man was almost completely mismatched with his sunny disposition. If anyone asked, Evans would sooner believe that the man was a rocker from Hell then a diplomat.

"If I recall correctly" he continued his thought, brows furrowing "the Laser-class BETA take a while to appear, right? About 19 days, isn't it?"

There were several nods.

"Then how about we…wait that period? We can even widely publicize the information, and declare aid to the U.S. It wouldn't matter if they accepted or not. But they key thing would be that everyone would know that there's a deadline at which the Hive _must_ be destroyed…or we will destroy it for them."

_Ah. A threat it is then? Well, fear always was an effective tool of management. _

"We would still be going through with it." The German frowned.

"Yes. But the idea is sound. And it certainly takes the blame off us, should the worst come to pass" The British cut in. "In _Americans had their chance, now they failed_, way."

It really did make sense, Evans thought. By publicizing the information (at least in States anyway, in Europe the Hive data was hardly classified), the U.N would be making a huge "We're really sorry, but it's the only way" board, and in case that entire Maryland had to be nuked off Earth, Americans would only be able to blame their own government.

It was cruel, but for the sake of humanity, the pride and many American citizens would die, and their own government would probably collapse – Evans couldn't see the administration continue in the event that America was attacked as result of its own inability to deal with BETA.

The result would be an ugly chaos…but one that could have been turned into something useful for the U.N and rest of the world.

And to be perfectly honest, it was still less then what Americans deserved to pay.

"Since I see that we all agree with the basics of the plan" Evans eyes the German and Japanese for the emphasis "we can put it into motion. In the meantime, we will monitor the situation through the official U.S government channels, and if situation allows for it, our own officials that remain within U.S."

_Yes…this isn't the first time we're doing something like this…After all, that's why we approved of the plan of that madwoman and created the A-01". _

* * *

_Area-51, I-Day plus 9 hours_

It was a typical atmosphere that Yuuya had seen before. One that he couldn't quite call, but which reminded him of a whipped dog. People either talking in quiet, hushed voices or angry outbursts.

The news had arrived only a couple of hours ago, but it was already making waves. Not that Yuuya could blame it for that – after all it wasn't just everyday that your capital got blown up together with the President.

"There you are, Yuuya" He looked up to see Vincent, who wore almost unusual frown. Sighing, Yuuya crawled from under the labyrinth of cables that the cockpit frame of his F-22 became to face his friend.

"How is it Vinny?" He asked.

"Bad. Everyone seems to know just about as much as the next guy, which is squat. I heard from the Colonel that Command might have relocated to Cheyenne…that is, if we still have command left. Besides that, the usual – bunch of people running scared or depressed."

"Almost like in Reykjavik months ago. Jesus, that was a FUBAR." Yuuya rubbed his head as he leaned against the catwalk. "We're the biggest army in the world, and the moment a Hive lands in our backyard everyone shits themselves and act like a little girl. It's annoying"

"Well, not everyone serves in Space Force for starters." Vincent retorted. "And you have to admit that the Hive made quite an entrance."

Yuuya could only quietly nod. And feel the anger inside of him.

The battle for fate of his country was fought only a few hours away by an airplane or HSST, and all he could do was to sit on his ass and adjust the flight sticks.

But hey, that always beaten running scared. Or depressed.

"Well, suit up. If you're already here, you might as well help me with this thing." Yuuya finally replied, pointing at his TSF. "Better be prepared if their highnesses decide to call in real experts to the job, no?"

* * *

Mike Walters wished he was somewhere else. He really, really did.

The ether was filled with horrifying screams as the forward line of defense was being overwhelmed. The lumbering TSFs were brought down, like old monuments, smashing to the ground and picked apart. The tanks were now in full retreat, trying to put in some distance between them and their foes.

"Direct hit!" His gunner shouted. "Destroyer down! But I'm down to 3 AT shells , five explosive and one HEAT."

Mike cursed. They barely had any chance to resupply, and their once ample storages were practically out. Same could have been said of other surviving tanks.

"Fuck. Reynolds, can't we drive faster!?" The Abrams' driver shook his head, his voice barely audible by omnipresent rumble.

"I'm doing all I can! But I can't magically unthaw the fucking snow man!"

Mike held another curse short. The weather had hindered the advancing horde well enough initially, but now the trees and loads of fresh snow obscured Abrams' retreat.

"Tanks!" The gunners voice, despite the shouting, was much more calm then you'd assume. It seemed that in the heat of battle, the young man had simply forgotten to be afraid. "Those red little fucks are directly behind Lambda group!"

Mike grimaced. The Lambda was still within their firing range, but the enemy was closing in too fast, in too great a number. Any fire support now would be a waste of shells that could have saved their own lives. He slammed his fist against one of the panels, as the thought crossed his mind.

_Is that the best we can do?_

Suddenly the ground behind Lambdas exploded, as dozens of small object descended from skies. Fire, shockwaves and shrapnel massacred through Tank-class vanguard, as a crescent-shaped unit soared through havens.

"All units! Continue to withdraw. We will cover you."

Mike watched with amazement as the squadron of Navy F-14Ds screamed overhead, their guns blazing.

"Wow. Now that's some God-dammn balls" His driver commented as the Navy formation dropped in right before BETA main force, their 120mm cannons thundering, each shot bearing death and destruction.

Mike could only wish to be there with them, sharing in the joy of sending that alien filth to their grave.

But right now, all he could do is retreat.

_But then again…you can't fight is you're dead. Survive to fight another day, isn't it?_

* * *

_South-Western Maryland, I-Day plus 10 hours  
_

The old man smiled as his cigar caught light. Technically, a TSF cockpit was not the place to smoke, but it wasn't like anyone would give him hard time about it.

_It's time_.

"Old-Snake One to all Snakes, listen up!" His throat felt a little dry from the smoke, but his voice carried with the same authority that he exerted through his years of service. "There's one nasty herd of BETA just asking to be killed. And I was supposed to be in entirely different place, full of young, Cuban misses." His comrades grinned in less-than-proper way. "So we'll be doing one thing, and one thing only…killin' BETA. And because I'm just such a hardass, everyone here own me 1000 BETA scalps!"

"Yes sir!" His troops replied enthusiastically. The old man smiled wickedly at the sound, all the while his cockpit begun to be filled with sounds of rapidly-loaded ammunition.

"Good. Who's our love ladies!?"

"GUN, GUN, GUN!"

"WHAT'S OUR LOVE!?

"KILL, KILL, KILL THE BETA!"

By 1980s, the American TSF design philosophy had moved away from lumbering, armored walking tanks into streamlined, his speed sleek death bringers. The idea was that since Laser-class made almost all armor obsolete, then you'd have to avoid getting hit – and extensive amounts of armor were not particularly pleasant on the aerodynamics, as were heavy, integral weapons.

But there were exceptions.

One, was the Intruder line of amphibious TSFs. The other, was the America's attempt to bring that undaunted monstrosity of machine onto land proper – the A-10 Thunderbolt II – the Warthog.

Based on hybrid Phantom and Intruder chassis, the machine could barely move under the strain of it's heavy sheets of armor. But said armor contained dozens of Javelin anti-BETA CIDS, and the GAU-8 Avenger. A rapid-fire gattling cannon, the Avenger fed BETA with hundreds of uranium depleted rounds at huge velocities. And A-10 carried _two_ of them. In addition to two hands further filled with Javelins, and capable of fully operating any hand-held weapon.

Extremely expensive and slow, the Thunderbolt II was simply not something you messed with. Rumors had it, that even the ATSF project heads were too afraid to pit their shiny toys against "The Hog".

And right now, a fully battalion of them was heading to the frontline.

Piloted by some very angry Army veterans. Men and women that fought through Fields of Fulda and Alsace-Lorraine long before Chair Force decided to actually make Orbital Divers useful.

The Hogs slammed into the ground just after the tanks passed behind them. The staggered line faced the BETA as if daring them to move forward, all the while Navy F-14s and the Army escorts of F-16s harassed the horde with its 36 and 120mm rifles.

The horde advanced undaunted, it's various strains almost melting the snow with their saliva at the sight of lumbering, resource-rich behemoths.

"In range" Someone called.

The old man just grinned and pulled the trigger.

Dozens of GAU-8 gattlings roared to life, like a howl of angry, vengeful God. And vengeance the God would have.

With only few Destroyers to cover them, the lighter BETA strains turned into a literal liquid and hundreds of nearly hypersonic depleted uranium rounds tore through them. The massive guns merely swept the line, angry fires of traces biting in into a mass of flesh and blood.

Then, hovering in air with impunity, the others TSFs brought to bear their rifles, smothering the BETA with 120mm shells.

And for the first time, the BETA advance _faltered._

* * *

_Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, USA, I-day plus 12 hours  
_

The just sworn-in President of the United States of America, David Richard Anderson, stood within the main communication hub of the Cheyenne Complex. The vast communication room became over the span of the day a command center for practically entire North America. Maps layed strewn around the hastily arranged tables, and communication specialists sat nearly non-stop, glued to their computers, trying to sort out the vast chaos that erupted over entire country.

"General O'Neill reports that his reinforcements reached to zone of BETA control. He had also re-established contact with remaining commanders across North-Eastern seaboard."

"Good" Anderson nodded "Tell him that his priority is to establish a defense perimeter surrounding Objective-29. He has free hand on how he does it – I don't care what he does barring dammn WMDs, as long as it gets the job done."

"Yes, Mr. President."

It might have been not much of an order, but Anderson didn't have much choice. With Derringer Effect still wreaking havoc with communications across almost entire northern border of USA, he was lucky he managed to co-ordinate any defense at all. And "co-ordinate" was stretching it a bit – all they managed to do was essentially find the highest-ranking officer on East Coast and basically give him command over every man, woman and child in the region.

But even as American troops died in droves to repel the alien invaders, bigger problem remained.

The actual Hive.

As long as that thing remained, it was a serious threat. And Anderson knew form his military training that for next 18 days, they would be free from the threat of Laser-class – but after that, East Coast aerial zone would be essentially shut down.

That gave them 18 days to contain BETA advance, surround the Hive and destroy it.

If it was only as easy as it sounded.

But if they didn't do it then the United States were finished, and all he did would be for naught. And Anderson refused to accept it.

* * *

_Maryland Battlefield, I-Day plus 15 hours_

The Tank-class viciously hurled itself against the lumbering TSF. Moments before it made contact however, a sharp, metal javelin ejected from one of the armor plates, impaling it inside out. Reeling back on titanium cable, the object left a trail of blood across the armor.

Old Snake barely had the time to recognize that however, as he gunned down another pair of Grapplers that attempted to flank his TSF.

The battle continued now for hours, and even though U.S reinforcements increased by the hour, it seemed like there was no stopping of the alien menace.

The A-10 slowly moved across now battered hills, as American desperately attempted to hold the enemy advance. To a degree, it was working – the BETAs failed to advance any further in significant numbers, but at the same time, Americans failed to advance themselves.

A classic stalemate.

Several Tanks again pounded on the A-10. The GAU-8 gattlings roared to life, turning some of them into red vapor and paste. But several managed to reach the TSF, their muscular hands tightly gripping the slightly torn-and-bashed armor.

Under most normal circumstances, this would be a nightmare situation for any TSF pilot. But not to someone piloting Warthog.

The leg Javelins came to life, their tips effortlessly tearing through Tank bodies before retracting. Like trashed puppets, the critters fell to the ground, forming a small wall around the craft.

But even with such a might…there was so far you could go.

"You know, I didn't notice it at first, but there's much more of these red fucks then before"

"True" Old Snake replied to one of his battle-buddies. His cigar had long since became a burned-out husk. "It was same at Fulda too."

"Destroyer carousel. That was dammn ingenious for a bunch of bugs, I'll give them that."

"Still, it's easy for us here. Fulda had tons of Laser-class." Snake replied and he off-handedly shot another Grappler to pieces, this time with hand-held rifles.

"Don't remind me. Who took them out in the end?"

A pair of returning F-16 screamed overhead, their rifles blazing as they tore a bloody trail through the advancing column of more Grapplers and several Destroyers. Snake rose his rifle in gesture of mock salute. "Depends on which approach you were. East was covered by Galm. Western was covered by those Easterners – you know, the ones led by Bernhard?"

His wingmate laughed as his own gattlings briefly came to life, turning into ribbons several more grapplers that were about to grab onto a downed F-14. The machine's wingmate made his own salute, as he pulled the downed mecha to its feet, slowly dragging the now twisted machine behind the battle-line.

"_Eisig Hure_, was what those cretins called her, right? Heh, that woman had more balls then entire of East combined-"

The comm. Line suddenly beeped, and Old Snake blinked in surprise – pretty much ever long-range comm. System in the area was down so how could have anyone..

"Attention to all forces in the area, this is Command Post Actual" it was a voice of a young woman that might have been in her mid-20s "We have managed to temporarily restore long-range communications. Several flight of bombers have been di*buzz*tched from *buzz**buzz* to assist. Please, hold out a little more! Fire support is *buzz* the way!"

"…It wouldn't happen to be climatic if this was the last wave, would it?" the wingman asked. The older pilot noticed the flashing icon for squadron tactical uplink, and pressed corresponding keys. In a second, the combined 3-D battlefield map composed from synchronized sensors of all surviving Snake TSFs came to life.

"That's a big wave." He simply said, grabbing another cigar from under the seat.

"And spreading in all directions…let's just hope whatever boys and girls in command have planned will get here soon."

* * *

"Major Walker! Enemies confirmed, bearing Alpha-Alpha-1. Unable to determine numbers! ETA 10 minutes at current speed."

Alfred Walken nodded to his subordinate as he studied the tactical map. The news that there was incoming fire support had certainly invigorated the defenders, but one big problem remained.

Remaining BETA.

"All Hunter elements, maintain current altitude and air speed! Contact with enemy vanguard in 8 minutes!" He loudly ordered to his Group, as he pushed forward his sea-green F-15E. On the flanks, he could make out similarly painted F-16Cs from Able company, which were providing fire support.

"_It'll all boil down to those few minutes…if we can't hold them off here, then the BETA will spread out, and massed bombardment will be ineffective."_

The next minutes dragged on by agonizingly, until finally, Walken could make out his foes.

"Here they come!" His XO, Irma Thesleff reported as the formation closed in towards BETA.

"Still no Laser-class sir" Someone else reported.

"Good. Then we can fight without altitude limitations. All units raise your level to avoid being caught by The Destroyers or Grappler arms! We will cook them from above!"

The TSFs activated their boost engines and swiftly ascended, roaring overhead of BETA. Without their might Laser-class escorts, the alien beings could only helplessly stare into the sky as their prey mocked them from above.

The mount pylons twisted from their back racks, the AMWS-21 roaring to life, as 36mm shells made a piece meal from unprotected Destroyer backs. With no way to strike back, the vanguard was obliterated in a flash.

"Good" Walken nodded as he seen the first incoming wave slowly dissasipate on radar screens as more and more specimens were killed. "Able company, sweep the next rank with missiles! 12-shot volley, each craft!"

Several dozens of missiles surged forth from Falcon's shoulder-mounted missile containers. Again, with no Laser-class, the missiles reached their mark without fail, tearing into the BETA wave with finesse of blunted hammer. Fire, blood, earth and entrails danced across the sky as American formation advanced, their guns blazing.

If the enemy had even a shred of human-like cognition, he would have withdrawn – understanding that casualties were too high and tactical situation untenable.

But BETAs were not human. They advanced without remorse over smoldering corpses of their compatriots, showing no fear against screaming death that surged towards them.

Walker winced. His unit remained almost completely unharmed, and he achieved almost complete supremacy over his enemy – and yet he was losing. For his objective was not to simply kill BETA – but stop them at specific point.

"All units fall back! We have to make a stand! If the BETA get out of encirclement, then the battle's lost!"

The jump units swiveled forward, instantly generating reverse thrust that took Eagles away from battle line. With heavy thump, the Eagles settled several dozen meters away from BETA horde. With swift movement, Walken deployed all of his rifles forward, his squadron following suit while Able company continued to pound the BETA from above.

"No-one gets past us! Fire everything!"

Eagle's guns thundered again, alternating between 120mm and 36mm fire. Explosions tore into Destroyers. The tungsten-tipped arrows with which Eagle's cannons were loaded tore into Destroyer ranks, denying smaller strains their protection. Quickly catching up, the Able company hovered above the BETA, firing their explosive shells in-between Hunter's kills – creating a true mayhem of metal and carapace shrapnel, fire and flying Destroyer bodies as they fell upon other strains, finally disrupting BETAs endless march. Finally, from behind the Hunter's position emerged, battered but operational, American armor elements, their lengthy barrels shaking with each shot that sent lethal projectiles to kill some poor alien son-of-a-bitch.

"It's no good Walken!" Able's captain reported over the booming noise "Their still climbing above the Destroyers."

Clicking his tounge, Walken moved his F-15E forward, despite reverberating kicks from his rifle's attached cannons echoing across its frame. "Hunters, close in! Put in some distance between BETA and armored battalion."

It was a fearful slaughter as countless BETA died, dyeing fields in several shades of red and purple. But finally, several specimens were finally able to reach the Eagles.

Close Quarters Combat has commenced.

Walken swiftly dodged a Grappler arm, promptly shooting the offender to bits, before blasting a pair of tanks. Around him, individual pilots deployed their knives as they came face-to-face with Tank groups. He barely could assess the situation, before another Grappler lunged at him. With seconds to spare, he blocked incoming claws. Metal clashed against silicate as Grappler pressed its attack. Twisting his control sticks, he applied increased thrust to his boosters, slipping from under the creature's grasp. Throwing away two of his rifles, he deployed his knives, immediately slashing through Grappler's leg muscles and belly organs, basking his TSF in blood.

Almost immediately, three tanks jumped unto him. Two met almost immediate end at the edge of his knives, but the third managed to solidly latch onto his Eagle's chest, it' monstrous mouth bearing its teeth. With a grunt, Walken pulled his Strike Eagle into a tight turn, causing the Tank to momentarily lose its balance, giving enough leeway for his knife to plunge into it.

Catching his breath, he had just enough time to look around before diving into fray again. All around, Hunters were surrounded by their enemies, BETA waves dividing into smaller strings that sought to tactically strangle individual TSF elements with sheer numbers.

"Major!" Irma Thesleff's ragged face appeared on the screen. "There's too many of them! Hunter 4 and 6 are down – We're being overwhelmed!"

Walken yelled in frustration as he repeatedly drove knives into a backside of a Destroyer. "Dammn. But if we fold here, the BETA will roll out en masse towards Virginia…Able Company, come in!"

As lightweight TSFs, the F-16 remained airborne, fruitlessly trying to stem the tide of enemies heading for Hunter Group.

"Still here" its commander laconically reported.

"Hereward, fire every missile you have in between our positions and the BETA!"

"I can't guarantee that we can avoid hitting your guys Walken! We can't see shit down there!"

"Just do it! Otherwise we will bleed out in close-quarters anyway!"

The Eagle turned sharply to the right, driving its knives into another tank, prying it off from a downed Hunter F-15E.

"This is Able! Missiles away in 5! 1, 2, 3, 4, FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

A tight barrage of missiles dived into the swirling melee, exploding in between its participants, scattering dirt, rocks, shrapnel and alien remains. Eagle's rocked as their gyros fought to keep the machines stable against the shaking ground.

Walken's F-15E emerged from the smoke, it's shoulders smoldering from shrapnel impacts, but otherwise intact. Its secondary rifles, now reloaded and replacing its predecessors on main combat arms, blazed again, scattering more BETA.

The desperate maneuver succeeded in creating several craters that would slow BETA down. Although not significant, the slight lessening of enemy numbers allowed several Hunters to finally fight off their enemies and assemble into a single formation, firing again into the BETA ranks.

Just in time for bomber arrival.

Before the arrival of Laser-class BETA rendered aerial weapons nearly completely ineffective, bombers were among some of the most feared anti-ground vehicles. Carrying thousands of bombs, these crafts carried enough ordinance to wipe out a whole military unit by themselves – or even level entire towns. When atomic bombs were devised, the bombers were then adapted to carry it, becoming capable of finally ending the civilization of their creators.

For decades, Americans built mass of these bombers, in preparation for massive aerial assaults should the war ever erupt between its rival, the Soviet Union. Although this bomber fleet no longer had a purpose, or strategic niche, Americans chose to retain them, "just in case".

And this case had just arrived.

"Buffalo Lead to Buffalo Flight, time to show the Army how's it done. Drop all bombs, reserve nothing!"

The B-1 Lancer bombers lowered their altitude, as their bomb bays opened, revealing their payloads – hundreds of primed bombs, of almost all types.

"Colonel" The lead machine's co-pilot quietly reported as the machines lowered altitude. "I have confirmation of the location of local defense forces, along with main BETA concentrations."

"Good job" his commander nodded as he gently turned the bomber towards updated co-ordinates. "Now, let's roast some marshmallows."

The Bombers passed Hunter Group with overwhelming roar, typical to jet-propelled aircraft. Only a second later, fire rained from the sky.

The cries of pilots, once filled with the untold agony and despair of the dying as they were crushed or torn by Grapplers and Tanks became a roar of triumph as their living comrades witnessed their enemy's annihilation. The already-scorched Earth exploded once more, as bombs fell in droves, smiting the BETA with their ungodly power. Cluster munitions and big, dump iron bombs smashed into the Earth, creating an infernal orgy of destruction.

Hunters – battered but victorious cheered, as they rose their bloodied weapons into the sky. Justice was done, and mission fulfilled. Elsewhere, situation was similar as tank crews and surface pilots cheered the mass annihilation of Man's greatest foe.

But some did not laugh.

"_We won, but only because of the advantage of our airpower, and command's succefull attempt at co-ordinated aerial assault." _Walken grimly thought as he surveyed the ruined battlefield. _"Had this been an honest fight…would have we won? Or…"_

The question remained unanswered as BETA and the bodies of their unfortunate comrades burned to ash.

* * *

General O'Neill looked out hopefully through the window of his Humvee. The long loud of black, low-hanging smoke meant that his plan has survived.

He turned behind him, where on the back ramp one of the soldiers continuously fiddled with portable radio station.

"Do we have contact with the bomber units or Langley?"

The trooper shook his head "On and off sir. It's better than it was an hour ago, but I cannot gurantee that the channel won't go dead or static all of a sudden."

"Tell Langley to continue bomber assaults. Tell them that each squadron is authorized to operate on their own. I'll take the responsibility. And tell those dammn cable-laying teams to hurry up. I can't fight a war if I don't know where my troops are!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The Humvee's driver, one of General's staff officers gently coughed to get his superior's attention. "We're almost to the CP sir. The forward scouts should already be there to relay the latest information."

The man nodded, as he leaned back into his seat. The adjutant continued.

"What do you think the SecD…I mean, the President will do? You don't think he will…bomb the Hive, would he?"

"With nukes? Nah, not right away. Besides, _if_ we hurry, we can probably wipe them out conventionally…unless, the BETA pushed up their Laser development schedule. If that's the case, we're screwed either way.

Although his face remained neutral, General frowned inwardly.

"_But then again, it would be detrimental to your objective, wouldn't it, CIA? Using one opportunity to terrorize the U.S population and replace civilian government with ad-hoc organization that will most likely be based off martial law, not to mention killing all opposing politicians in one go…but even so, to go as far as to actually prepare communication cables, forming entire Engineering Corps units out of their agents, putting Thunderbolts units, bombers and entire Hampton Roads on stand-by almost 12 hours before actual attack without wider world knowing…no…"_ O'Neill shook his head. "_Not even CIA has these resources…even if it really is the case that they're co-operating with the FBI and SOCOM… Whoever is really pulling the strings here, is above and beyond the CIA director. And whether the USA survives, is dependant entirely on the goodwill of this…entity._"

"General?"

"It's nothing" the man absentmindedly replied, as he desperately tried to assess the new threat.

* * *

_Area-51, Nevada, USA, I-Day plus 23 hours_

It had been close to over 24 hours now.

The heightened alert at Area 51 remained however, and the Surface Pilots remained at their stations, wearing the powered Reinforcement Suits under their vests.

Not that this really bothered Yuuya. As frontline soldier, he had long since became familiar with the custom of near-permanent wear of "the Armor", since as it happened on the frontlines, you never knew when the next BETA raid would be. Or when you would be sent off into Space as a Diver.

From the good news department, it seemed like there was still a command – in Cheyenne complex, just as Colonel predicted. But what went on besides that, no-one knew. Except maybe for a massive commotion within the U.N orbital space station. Again, not that Yuuya could blame _them_ for the matter. U.N buildings in New York were not _that_ far away from the hive.

But as long as no-one sent any HSSTs, then his hands were tied. It was kind ironical that almost entire of America's rapid-response troops were simply _elsewhere _and couldn't respond in force.

So that left Yuuya and his squad mates playing cards in the hangar with some of the mechanics, while trying to ignore the increasingly restless aces of Nevada.

"Flush" Vincent called next, smugly throwing his cards down on the deck. Yuuya just smiled.

"Full House" The several people cheered as his cards landed on top of Vincent's. He was now almost-certain that he could win…

"Oh, my turn I believe." Max cut in, twirling his elongated ponytail with his free hand, before throwing down his cards on the deck. "And, I believe that's my pot."

_Straight Flush_

"Motherfucker." Vincent and Yuuya said almost simultaneously as their fellow pilot happily took the arranged pile of bills and coins.

That was when Yuuya noticed them.

Infinity pilots were leaning against the railing, not really sure what to do with themselves. He could make out the naturally-ass looking Leon' face, as well as the other 3. Guylos as usual looked like he was made of stone, and only Keith and Sharon looked like they might have had legitimate concern.

Leon's and Yuuya's stares locked for a second, with Leon's frown deepening, if it was even possible. Yuuya hurriedly averted his gaze – he was in no mood for more staring matches with that guy.

Big mistake.

"Yo. I see you're having a lot of fun over here." Leon's voice called from overhead.

"We are." Max smoothly replied as he stuffed the bills into the pockets of overcoat he had draped over the armor. "Want to join? Word of advice, we only take cash, no credit cards, cheques or valuables."

"I'm sorry?" Leon's voice was momentarily stunned, for long enough for Max to actually turn to him.

"You're here because you want to play card games, right?"

Leon's face twisted, and Yuuya mentally cursed.

"Do you even know what the fuck is going on!? Our capital is in ruins, rest of the army is running around like headless chickens and you're playing _cards?_ Look outside the window man!" Leon snarled. Suddenly, Max's face became perfectly neutral, and Alice and Yuuya shifted their position so that they could jump into any fight. They had seen this type before – mostly from troops who never stepped into the battlefield – who tried to take out their frustrations on troops who blatantly didn't care because there was _nothing_ that their caring would have done.

"Unless you can magically shit out a Space Shuttle, there's only so much that I can do. So why shouldn't I relax before my commanders possibly throw me into a battle where I can be shot, blown up, melted or bitten to death? Take a break or something _tough guy_, we don't you want you dying out of anxiety before we even get onto the dammed HSST."

Leon's hand twitched and drew back, in what might have been interpreted as a vaguely intimidating gesture.

Another big mistake.

Max was up almost unnaturally fast, and jabbed Leon in between the ribs. The powered armor that he wore caught most of the blow (otherwise he'd probably lose a lung) but the feedback still caused the man to unexpectedly bend. No wasting time, Max swiftly kicked his feet from under him and _flipped_ Leon around, face-straight into the deck. Yuuya and Alice were up seconds later, before Leon's friends even moved an inch.

Not that it was necessary – with his adversary momentarily stunned, Max sat down, like nothing ever happened. Sighing, Yuuya walked over his fallen Nemesis, shaking his head.

"Is this really worth it Leon? Feel any better?"

"Oh shut up!"

Yuuya rose his eyebrow while nearby crowed watched on with interest. "Or what? You will have me whip you a one too? Look, not that we're friends or anything, but you don't completely suck at your piloting for me to break your spine before we're deployed." He took a deep breath. "So take it for truth when I say that yes, we are _aware_ that there's a massive SNAFU going over our heads, and yes – we are fucking pissed about it. You think _you_ have it bad? You don't know shit. You think we enjoy hearing how helpless grunts get assfucked by those monsters while there's nothing we can do? Fuck. That. But you know what pisses us more? When the little crybabies get all up in arms about how _they_ cannot help, and that hey, we're not helping either! Are you even seriously trying?" Yuuya shook his head before taking a look around. "And that goes for everyone here – we're not kicking back because we don't _give a shit_. We kick back precisely because we're the most pissed out of you. Except that this here is not something to waste your hate on. " his eyes narrowed. "Just like we said, there's time for everything. There's time for heroics, time for mourning and a time for _hate_."

His shook his head, before finally offering his hand.

"I still hope you go off and die in a ditch, but I'd rather have you kill some BETA first. Got it? Rage without purpose is meaningless." Yuuya's eyes hardened. "_After all…I learned it the hard way, didn't I?"_ He reminiscence about those who were killed on that first flight – and afterwards, and just how little hatred and spewing curses did. It was only after that Colonel told him "_Revenge is not Fire. It is ice. Don't let it control you. Control your hatred instead. The hatred of being useless. Of being weak. Of being defeated. Let them simmer – and when the time comes, when hope fades and everything seems hopeless, pick a target and then lash out. Relying on hatred all your life is not good, but it's a hell of a doping when you're in deep shit."_

It was what he told Leon. In retrospect, or Max, should have done that after their dogfight. "Just to make sure" as they said.

"Fuck" Leon finally said, his arms dropping. "Just fuck".

"No, not yet" Alice suddenly cut in. "You haven't lost in cards yet."

It was a crude joke, but the laughs, short and curt and gruff – but still laughs, seemingly broke the tension. Yuuya felt like releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Max, for all good he did, finally smiled, and handed out a deck of cards. "I renew my offer."

This time, Leon took the cards. And who said violence doesn't solve anything?

* * *

"Why did you do it?" Yuuya asked his partner, as the man pocketed _another_ share of winnings. In all honesty, the man's luck was beyond unnatural at this point. "Or better yet, why did you want me to give Leon – and by extension all those scared grunts a little pep talk?"

It was only after the fact, that Yuuya realized that the eyes of the troops around them – the other Surface Pilots that wearily eyed their game had finally some…fire in their eyes. They had a purpose, and observing how they moved or went to start calibrating their TSFs again, Yuuya could tell that it was far from accidental.

"Assuming I pulled this farce intentionally?" Max sing-songed "Maybe you – with your reputation and status, are simply someone who's more convincing when talking about reputation. Or maybe I needed someone they were more familiar with? Certainly in case of Leon – especially as I have a feeling we will be seeing this guy and his pals a lot more in the future."

"God help, we won't. But even so, why?"

"Because" Max smiled a little mysteriously "It wouldn't be fun if he'd burst all shockingly pink before we even entered the fray, would it?"

And with that awkward metaphor, he walked off. Yuuya shook his hand. Poker aside, there were some aspects of his friend that he would never get.

Somewhere else, a woman eagerly watched.

She looked beyond the crowds of men, and the parts they fiddled with, beyond catwalks and cranes.

What she eyed was a golem that was never meant to be used, put to sleep as a curious, and possibly useful tool, but one without any real application for its master. Until today.

Colonel Bishop eagerly awaited the time when the YF-23 prototypes would be fully operational.

And if what the former project manager told her – an old, withered, but still proud man, then it would be soon. Soon enough to make a _difference_.

END.

**Author's Note: **Phew. That took me way too long to write. We're now in the final part of "Cerberus Arc", with the next chapter being focused on Yuuya and co. finally taking the fight to the BETA, while the rest of the U.S Army rallies for a big huzzah…with French and British nukes hanging overhead. Speaking of which, I apologize for not including too much Yuuya this chapter. I initially tried to fit him and rest of Comets/Infinities onto the battlefield, but I couldn't make it stick without magically pulling HSSTs out of the desert, so that plotline had to go bye-bye. Instead, we got to see Max's awesome car skills. He's just that good. In fact, every riddle/person-reading game he had ever played has been mastered by him. Plot point, or me just throwing everyone a bone? You decide. Also, I tried to capture what I think all the "elite" pilots – but ones without any combat experience whatsoever might feel in an utter "Holy Shit, the World is Ending and We're playing cards!?". That had actually happened to me (albeit, without the world-ending part). Do note, that A-10 crew had actual combat experience, and Walken is simply Walken. And yes, I put him in because I couldn't fit Yuuya in. Rejoice, because he will be popping up and out. Now, the next chapter will finally see this mess brought to conclusion, and Yuuya being on his merry way to Yukon. Oh, and since it'll involve a Hive infiltration, there will be character deaths. Be afraid. Be _very_ afraid. This is _not_ meant to be a happy ended MuvLuv fanfic. As Kouki puts it best himself: "Nah, this isn't your kind of story. You like more gritty, bloody stories. You don't have to lie to me."

Incidentally, that wasn't the _whole_ of battle. "The Defense of Maryland" as it will be known in the future involved days or brutal, savage fighting. Initial hours especially, as engineers raced to restore communications while O'Neill relied on carrier pigeons and actual recon units, and whatever telephones that were "wired" (i.e, none of that digitalized or radio …stuff).

If enough people will want it, I was thinking of writing a side-story, featuring Yuuya's life before this point, and various adventures of other people on the side. If I ever do it, the full version of the Maryland battle will certainly be there, since otherwise it would simply be impossible to fit it in.

Once again, thanks for everyone who reviewed and favorite'd.

P.S No Lexicon update right now, but it may come up somewhere around end of the week or later. I haven't yet gotten around to figuring everything I want to put in around at this time.


	8. Chapter 5: Homefront

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Muv-Luv franchise in any way, shape or form; it is the property of its respective owners.

"_Once more unto the breach my friends, once more;_

_Or close the wall up with our English dead."_

_Henry V, Act III by William Shakespeare_

"CP, this is Romeo Six, we're seeing a large-scale enemy penetration along the Southern Defensive Line. Position Delta-2, quadrants 10 through 30. Grapplers, Tanks and Destroyers in the open. Distance five klicks and closing. Requesting support."

"Romeo Six, CP. Understood. Stand by for saturation bombardment. TSF squadrons are en-route."

Mark Walters shifted in his seat as the remaining tanks of Romeo Battalion confirmed their readiness. It had been almost a week since I-day. Since then, the combined forces of the Army, Navy, and Uncle Sam's Misguided Children – correction, _Marines –_ had been fighting shoulder to shoulder in containing the BETA advance. After days of near-constant bomber sorties and bloody ground battles, the US Armed Forces managed to contain BETA to a _relatively_ _small_ zone of 20 square kilometers around the Hive. At the end of this zone lay the American defenders – a hastily arranged, but increasingly fortified line of tanks, infantry, powered infantry, obstacles and mines. Backing them up was almost every single artillery battery across the East Coast, along with a significant TSF detachment, available to sortie at any "significant" event. Containing the BETA wasn't as desperate as it was at the beginning, but it was still far from easy.

At least they weren't fighting blind anymore: the Derringer Effect, an apparent side effect of unintended G-bomb deployment, had begun to dissipate, allowing the Americans to make the most out of their long-ranged sensors and wireless communications. The importance of the latter could not be overstated: a common maxim was that an officer's most powerful weapon was his radio.

"Here comes the snow!" one of other tank commanders called over the tacnet, and Mike scanned the battlefield again.

Dozens of missiles streaked down from the skies, falling before, in the middle and behind the BETA formation. The ground exploded in a fiery inferno, as cluster and shaped charge warheads worked their magic. Mike smiled grimly as he noticed the distinct red-and-purple mist of alien blood, as BETA burst and died around every other fireball. The saturation bombardment was quite effective in grinding the formation to a powder.

"I still don't understand why they don't run," his gunner, finally spoke. "They just keep advancing forward like, like a pack of lemmings."

"All better for us. If they want to die so badly, hey, we'll be glad to speed them on their way," the tank driver cheerfully replied.

"No objections there," the gunner agreed. "But I still think that they're too dumb to be real aliens… they're almost like machines."

"So, they're alien drones huh? Someone was skipping out on logic programming then!" The driver laughed at his own joke, while Walters narrowed his eyes. That… actually made sense. It would explain the insane numbers, the simplistic tactics and perfect co-ordination despite seemingly no spoken language… Mike sighed. There were entire conference rooms full of eggheads trying to solve this issue, so it wasn't like he could've guessed one of biggest mysteries of science overnight. Instead, all he could really do was focus on his job.

"Cut the chatter you two. The survivors are coming into range. Good, no Destroyers. Identified, target 12 o'clock, Grappler. Load HE."

"HE, up!" confirmed the loader, slamming the high explosive round into the breech of the 120mm gun, locking it closed.

"Gunner, up!" The gunner replied as he followed the order. "Got it aimed right at the center."

"All Romeo elements, this Romeo Six. Pick your targets and fire on my command, say again, fire on my command. Countdown: three, two, one. Mark," Their commander finally gave the word over open comms, his steady voice belying none of the pressure he felt. And as one, the line of M1A1 Abrams - of which Romeo was but one small part – fired their guns, while M2 Bradleys supported them with 25mm chaingun fire, TOW missiles and calling in precision artillery strikes.

The tattered remains of BETA group finally scattered, but it was too late to minimize the damage – the massed fire of 120mm HE rounds ripped through reminder of BETA force, and whatever the Abrams didn't kill died in a wall of 25mm fire and a rain of artillery shells. Walters could only nod approvingly at the sight, at how the tables had turned. A few days ago, the American defenders would be running in panic as overwhelming hordes closed in on them. Now, with full might of US Army on their asses, the BETA could barely walk out of their own base before being squashed like bugs. By the time the TSF air support arrived – a flight of 4 Vipers - there really weren't that many BETAs left to kill, much less watch out for.

Still, just how long would they keep this up?

And would that be the last trick the Hive showed them?

* * *

_Area 51, Nevada, USA, _

It had been early morning when the members of (now former) EMD Phase 2 Raptor team, composed of the Infinities and Comets, had assembled in one of the base's vast briefing halls. Yuuya noted the presence of base commander, some adjutants, intelligence officer and finally Bishop herself, dressed in her finest military finery. The vast array of medal ribbons – colloquially known as "fruit salad" - sparkled with colors under the room's artificial light, drawing attention to her awards and ample bust.

And knowing how rarely Wilma ever took out her fully primped Service Dress Blacks, preferring Space Force fatigues over her Class As for daily wear, Yuuya knew that this was _serious_.

Once everyone was seated, the base commander walked forward to the lectern, deliberately eyeing the assembled pilots, before breaking into a speech. His voice was loud, dignified and authoritative.

"As you might be aware, for the past several days, the US military forces have been busy containing the Hive that landed within the confines of Maryland, officially designated as "Objective 29". While this was happening, President David Anderson ordered a number of divisions from other states to converge on the Hive in preparation for a single, coordinated assault from all sides. Time is of the essence – in less than 6 days from now, the Hive will be able to deploy Laser-class BETA, at which point any hope of neutralizing the Hive will be gone. As you might already be aware, the UN will not stand for it, and in precisely 5 days will destroy the Hive using nuclear warheads, which will inevitably render the better part of the Eastern Seaboard uninhabitable. This cannot be allowed to pass."

The commander paused, as the strategic display behind him lit up.

"For this reason, President Anderson has ordered the launch of Operation Crucible – the largest military assault in recent history of the American military. It will involve no less than fourteen divisions from the Army, drawn from across the entire country, plus the defenders of the Maryland Line, continuously battling BETA. However, the final attack will fall on the Space Force, whose Orbital Divers will make a daring attack deep into the Hive. Given that all of you have either qualifications as, or actual experience of being Orbital Divers, you will provide support to the main attack elements."

The man paused, before taking a breath.

"This will be most likely the most dangerous mission in your careers, and one of which the entire future of our country rests. I cannot properly express my respect for you, and wish you the best of luck and Good Hunting." The man sharply saluted them, before promptly leaving the briefing room.

_Talk and Dash indeed_.

"The op plan is simple enough," Bishop's hard, professional tone echoed across the room, as she took her place behind the lectern. This was not "Wild Wilma" speaking. This was Colonel Bishop, one of the deadliest American pilots to ever live, and one of America's most experienced anti-BETA commanders. "In short, while forces already in Maryland will launch an all-out attack on the Hive to draw its attention, the Orbital Corps and auxiliary units will drop down and blow it up from the inside. Major Griffin?" (8)

The intelligence officer nodded as he walked up to the projection on the wall, ready to give the details of the operation. "Thank you, Colonel. 114th, 108th and 100th Orbital Regiments will all take part in the assault. Supporting them will be the Marine Corps' 125th and 67th Force Recon, as well as the 65th Tactical Studies/Aggressor Group. The landing itself will be split into three simultaneous waves that will land in different sectors of the Hive."

The projection of the terrain and Hive switched to a proverbial "bird's eye" view, with three green circles marking the designated landing zones around the small Stab. One of those flashed crimson, a rather obvious indication of it being "their" landing zone. The spook continued his briefing:

"Based on reconnaissance reports, ground-penetrating radar, seismic analysis and analysis of sound echoes during bombing raids, we have determined that there are at least 5 different entryways into the Hive, along with several drifts spreading around. All of them convene around the main chamber directly underneath the stab, which we believe houses the main command and control unit. Observe-" As the intelligence officer continued taking, the image on screen rotated again, turning into tactical projection that showed the approximation of what analysts thought was beneath the ground.

"The initial assault by ground forces will focus on the Halls where the assault landing will take place, before retreating with fire and maneuver to ensure the maximum draw-out of BETA lifeforms; this should draw them off your LZs. This will be followed by concentrated artillery barrages and carpet bombing missions to both support the rest of our ground forces, and try to further damage the Hive. Following that, the Orbital Divers will make their landfall. You will break through directly into the Halls in these marked locations; these are roughly halfway to the Main Hall that connects all Halls to the Central Chamber."

Pale blue arrows stabbed into the image, slowly working their way up the Halls to the center.

"Once the Halls are secured, we will send you the big guns – 2nd Space Fleet shuttles will drop high-powered explosives and supply containers within closed reentry shells. "

Sharon's hand shot up in the air, breaking the man's monologue for a second.

"Yes, Lt. Heim?"

"Sir. How much does "High-powered" mean, exactly?"

Bishop and Griffin exchanged looks, before Bishop spoke up in the man's place. "Our understanding of Reactors – BETA command and control modules – is limited, so we're not taking any chances. The Commander in Chief has authorized deployment of C-7 MD charges… also known as America's S-11s. Additionally, thermobaric, canister, and cluster warheads will be provided, in case we need to deal with any extra BETAs."

Yuuya couldn't help but whistle. S-11 was the most powerful explosive employed by the U.N – several dozen kilograms of most powerful combination of plastics and chemical compounds, which, when triggered, unleashed an explosion dwarfed only by nuclear weapons… or a G-bomb.

And C-7, while not as powerful as either, was rumored to be still more powerful than the "original" version. Someone really wanted to see that Hive dead.

The Major Griffin retook the briefing from Bishop, while the map shifted again, showing the progression of arrows into the central chamber and, eventually leading into the Main Hall.

"Continuing, after the bombs are set, you will retreat through the holes the bomb delivery will make. Once the Hive is destroyed, you will be cleared to engage any remaining BETA at you discretion. Any more questions?"

Alice raised her hand, her amber eyes closely scanning the wall. "When will the 2nd Fleet exactly send in the bombs? Volk's data suggests comms won't work near the center of the hive, which means there is a high possibility that we won't be able to radio in."

Bishop smiled sourly. "Deep Space Operations expects us to drop comm relays to extend our range and radio in every half-hour with progress reports. If we miss a check-in, the fleet is ordered to go into count-down. They'll send in the bombs within an hour of the last check-in."

Max furrowed his brows and he leaned back, scribbling something down on his notepad. "That's not a very big window for us then, is it? Aren't they taking a risk that the bombs may be found by BETA and destroyed if we don't make it to Main Hall on time?"

"This is the main reason why attack is multi-pronged – command expects that between damage suffered during landing, continuing bombardment and the drawn out land battle, even the BETA will not be able to, quote, "adequately secure all halls", unquote, which should allow at least a single team to make in time… otherwise, well, they'll be hidden beneath several layers of ceramic and lead."

Yuuya resisted the urge to snort. That sounded more like wishful thinking than accurate military assessment, but he had to concede that it was ultimately the only plan that worked under these conditions: dragging bombs with them was too risky, the same with them being delivered by an army convoy.

It still didn't make him feel better.

"Question, McCloud?" Bishop continued her Q&A session.

"Don't mean to jinx us, ma'am, but what's the plan B?" the golden-haired giant of Infinities finally spoke, his voice being the usual mask of composure and emotional control – professionalism personified. "In case someone fucks up, what do we do?"

Bishop took a deep breath as she stepped forward. "We don't fuck up. That's Plan B. Plan _C_ will see Space Fleet detonating the bombs remotely if we get wiped out setting them up. If we fail before they are even delivered, the 2nd Fleet is ordered to bomb Hive directly and remotely set off the bombs. And then send in the Army. And if _that_ fails…" Bishop made a face that was distinctly unpleasant. "Then it's Plan D – UN takes over and nukes the living hell out of Maryland. Assuming we won't beat them to the punch."

There was a distinct silence across the room as implications set in.

"Got it, ma'am," Guylos finally spoke, his voice just as cool and calm as before, with a hint of determination. "No fuckups."

"Good!" Bishop suddenly smiled again, before sweeping her gaze along the gallery. "Ah, Bridges?"

"Ah, yes ma'am. Just wanted to ask about our operational loadout." Yuuya straightened his back as he addressed his commander. "Specifically, are we to continue using our 3rd Gens.?"

It was a valid question; after all the Comets had arrived here without equipment, and had - barring a onetime loan of Strike Eagles - almost completely relied on the two F-22s provided. That made two machines for 4 pilots… which begged the question of who would pilot them, and with what the other two would be going – since it didn't looked like anyone would be left behind.

"Ah, good question!" Bishop smiled in that particular, mischievous way that made all Comets sweat in an instant. "But first tell me, Mr. Bridges, Ms. Neverine, how quickly can you familiarize yourself with a new TSF?"

Yuuya and Alice looked at each other in confusion before replying. "A few hours, why?"

"Because that's what you'll be doing for the next few hours. Alice – you're taking over Yuuya's bird for this one. Without any sexual implications, mind you. As for you Yuuya –" Bishop made a grin that would make every Cheshire cat proud and every psychiatrist cringe. "Would you like to pilot a Black Widow?"

He blinked. Once, twice. "I'm sorry ma'am – did you just say a _Black Widow?_" The rest of the pilots, Infinities included looked at each other in confusion. _Again_. But then again, the YF-23 Black Widow II was famously scrapped several years ago.

"Yep. As this is a rather specific emergency, Northern Command ordered activation of all assets that could potentially help us in this battle. As Area 51 has just the two YF-23 prototypes mothballed in the back hangars, we figured out that it might be exactly what we need."

Yuuya could feel his heart beat faster and faster. The YF-23 was almost legendary among test pilots and aces alike. And if it was anything close to a Raptor – or even _better_ as some would go on to claim… well, that was like Christmas come true for any self-respecting Diver.

"Do I get to pick a color?" _Wait, did I just say it out loud?_

The laughter that enveloped the room told him that he did. _Dammnit._

"You do, actually. Although I have to say, gray goes really well with your eyes, Yuuya."

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

_10 hours of unimportant events later, Low Earth Orbit_

It was beautiful.

The deep black was sparkled with gleaming cold white lights that continued on for eternity, above a blue horizon.

Simply breathtaking.

Sharon had of course, experienced simulated Diving exercises, and always thought the replicated graphics of space was exceedingly beautiful. But the real thing was by far better.

"Never gets old, does it?" Max spoke over the unit's tacnet, as the HSSTs majestically rose over Earth.

"Yeah…" Alice quietly breathed. "It's a shame to see it in such a state though.."

"It?" Sharon finally spoke. "You mean Earth?"

"Yes. To think that something as horrible as BETA can exist in this world…."

"I see dear old Alice never changes, does she?"

Sharon looked up, surprised by the new voice. Just above their current position flew an entire wing of HSST shuttles, their dark bellies barely visible across the backdrop of space.

"Well, well, well," Yuuya's face popped back on the HUD, grinning at the unknown man. "You didn't got lost on your way to the launch pad? I'm impressed, Callaghan."

Lieutenant Harry Callaghan laughed before coughing up and speaking more formally. "2nd Squadron reporting in, Colonel. The rest of the pack is all here m'am. "

The white-and-black shuttles leveled with each other, their maneuver jets gently steering their momentum onto the desired path.

Sharon looked around, the cameras from HSST feeding the image directly to her Raptor, showing her the extent of armada that circled the Earth at low altitude. There were dozens of shuttles, all filled with at 4 TSFs. The briefing wasn't lying –the better part of entire Space Force was mobilized, and she guessed that almost all of America's HSSTs were mobilized, if not all of them.

She curiously listened in to the chatter, as Comet pilots switched their radios to a "common" frequency for all Space Force pilots. It felt a little strange, being placed at the center of commotion and yet being somewhat removed from it. As she listened in to the friendly banter of Space Force units, she idly wondered if it was the same image that the Infinities gave off in Nevada – cool, detached professionals who were engulfed in their own world.

"Attention all Divers, we're entering our drop corridor. Stand by for HSST acceleration. T-minus 3 minutes, and counting."

"Don't worry, landlubbers," One of the 114th's other female pilots – who Sharon recalled being called "Charlotte" in the radio chatter - called over, appearing on the HUD of the entire 65th Group. "If you remember your training, you will come back alive… well, mostly alive."

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk sister," Leon grunted as he shifted in his pilot's seat, just as the HSST's main jets came to life.

The jet of blue, orange and white flames lasted for seconds, but was enough to give the Shuttle the desired gain in velocity. Attitude thrusters spewed out small streams of gas to correct the course, placing the craft at an angle to Earth's equator.

"Approach locked. Time to drop: 10 minutes."

* * *

The roar was unbelievable.

Dozens, if not hundreds of artillery pieces, MLRS and AC-130 gunships bombarded the area around the hive with absolutely everything they had. High explosive shells, cluster warheads, white phosphorus, beehive and canister rounds… if it could be fired, it was being fired.

All to cover a monumental advance.

The line of tanks and IFVs advanced forward, covering the monotonous march of powered infantry. Above, TSFs from all branches whizzed back and forth together with helicopter gunships, covering the ground pounders, adding to the rain of artillery with their own guns and missiles.

Normally, the BETAs' sheer numerical superiority and their drive to advance are overwhelming – a million creature march that dwarfed all. But this time, for one of the few times in the entire history of the war, Mankind brought more bullets.

And so the BETA faltered. And then _they made way._

Genera O-Neill nodded appreciatively at the real-time display at his command post, as he watched an all-encompassing wave of blue make its way up towards the Hive. The rumble was sure to wake up those critters nice and good. All that remained was the Space Force's assault.

"_We're staking it all on this single move…we cannot fail here… we cannot!"_

* * *

Sharon and the rest of the Infinities did their best to not get squashed inside their cockpits as the armored "Flying Coffins" (as Orbital Divers from all around the world called them) plowed through the atmosphere. For life of them, they couldn't understand some of the jovial howls and shouts of some of the Divers, who seemed more like students on a camping trip then soldiers on a super-dangerous assignment.

"Separation in three, two, one. Mark!"

The charges detonated, splitting the coffins apart. Sharon watched in amazement as several tons of metal swiftly fell apart around her, speeding down towards the Earth at terminal velocity.

The TSF were now free-falling, the brown-and-white visage of Earth becoming ever more visible.

Along with their target.

Despite the clouds of dust and smoke, she could see it – a crystalline spire etched into what was unmistakably a crater. Despite continuous bombardment prior to the operation, the structure remained mostly intact – in fact, its chipped edges seemed to give it an even more haunting visage then before.

"Jets up, people!" Bishop shouted over the wail of air as TSFs fell with a grace of a rock. "We're doing this by the book. We're descending the rest of the way on boosters. Remember to aim for your markers!"

Sharon pulled her machine up, firing the boosters to slow the descent down, and gain at least some control over her Raptor. Shortly after, she tapped a sequence on her control panel, and a pale green diamond appeared on the HUD, an easy way of visually marking her rendezvous point.

The Orbital Divers then begun their rapid, controlled descend, all the while their Coffins slammed into the ground. With no Laser-class present, all of them reached their mark, kicking up plumes of rock, dust and God-knows-what as they smashed open the still-shallow BETA corridors, exposing them to sunlight and humanity's wrath.

In retrospect, the whole thing lasted seconds – but to Sharon it felt like an eternity.

* * *

The corridor they entered was darker and smaller then they had anticipated – although that wasn't surprising given that they were dealing with a smaller Hive then what most simulations assumed. In fact, that the BETA managed to erect so many caverns while being continually bombed by the USAF, was nothing short of miraculous. For the BETA, anyway.

Yuuya warily pushed his YF-23 forward, intently scanning the area. So far they had no BETA contacts – and if they were really lucky, perhaps they could keep it that way until-

The shrill beep of sonic sensors broke that line of thought before it even developed.

"We got contacts!" someone reported as the YF-23 processed the data from its sonic sensors, displaying a sea of red dots across the narrow corridor. "Approaching BETA group. Composition unknown, but wavelengths are consistent with Destroyer- and Grappler-classes."

"Alright, listen up! Second Squadron, Yuuya and me are on point. Loose formation, multi-wedge type. First Squadron, take position behind us and provide direct fire support. Third Squadron, Fourth Squadron, and Infinities secure the flanks and plug any leakers. Get a move on it!" Bishop wasted no time in shouting out her orders, and the USSF pilots wasted no time in following them.

The BETAs came like they were expected to – a head on charge on the US line, composed of staggered groups of TSFs, formed into small wedges with overlapping fields of fire, kneeling with all weapons pointing forward. Behind them stood the elements of the First Squadron, and on the flanks Third and Fourth Squadrons and their "guests". All awaited only one word.

"First and Second, fire!"

The 120mm cannons thundered with their volleys, each sending a depleted uranium sabot round towards its target, and each impact had a predictably gruesome effect. Destroyer armors cracked and lumbering beasts fell, burrowing themselves into the ground, disrupting the path for their compatriots behind.

"Smaller species are moving up ahead… they're trying to get around the Destroyers!" Sharp as ever, Alice spotted the less sturdy, but more maneuverable Grapplers and Tanks trying to outmaneuver their fallen vanguards.

"Third and Fourth, fire!"

Tracers and depleted uranium rounds screamed overhead, tearing into the white-red mass of BETA flesh.

Yuuya panted as he continued to rapidly shoot his cannons, each shot killing another target. He became almost caught up in it… almost.

"Several Tanks made it through!"

Yuuya noticed the two small, red objects moving towards him. He twisted his controls and his Black Widow reacted instantly, as the two BETA jumped on him, their white teeth gleaming. The first was equally instantaneously impaled with the rifle bayonet, its body going limp, as if it was a puppet with snapped strings. Its compatriot fared little better, as Yuuya redirected the bayonet thrust into a slash that hit the Tank on the mouth – although it survived the blow, the serrated super carbon bayonet smashed several of its teeth and badly ripped the creature's mouth, before being retracted and driven into its body again, this time killing it for good. Behind him, his wingmates worked fast in picking off the rest of the BETA, bursts of 36mm fire whizzing overhead, squashing more Tanks and occasional Grapplers. After several minutes, the gunfire stopped, and Divers took a moment to catch their collective breaths.

"Grey, report," Bishop ordered, her own Black Widow now standing atop of a Destroyer that made it tad too close for comfort to their line.

"No contacts on screens. No losses on our side either."

"Mmmmm, that was a much smaller group then I was expecting from a Hive." The Divers nodded. It was a well known fact that normally odds faced by a diver inside a hive where close to 1 to 100. And yet there were…very few BETA groups to be spotted. In fact, after all 15 minutes, that was a first serious group they ran into. That was _not_ normal.

"Perhaps…" Alice hesitantly spoke. Despite being unbelievably clumsy when not in a TSF cockpit, the young woman had a certain gift for working with numbers and science, and it wasn't a big secret that she kept a number of subscriptions for high-profile scientific magazines and the UN's "Biohazard and BETA Assessment Monthly".

"Go ahead, Alice."

"Maybe it's a combination of Hive's young status and the Army's diversion? The standard calculations were made for infiltration of Hives around and past Phase 4. For all intents and purposes, this is a Phase 1 Hive. Furthermore, it's likely that G-bombs might have additionally damaged it while the Hive was descending."

"Makes sense," Bishop shook her head. "Still, be extra careful. Saddle up Comets, time to reach that Main Hall."

* * *

_This Unit is Aware._

_This Unit Understands._

_This Unit has assessed the Situation._

_This Unit has confirmed the Enemy._

The glass-like eyes atop of the reactor stirred ever so slightly.

* * *

"G-general!" one of the aides shouted panickedly over the heads of radio operators.

"What is it?"

"We lost contact with VF-54 and VF-32! Along with an entire herd of BETA! They just… _vanished_."

O'Neil furrowed his brows. A BETA herd didn't just _disappear_, especially not with two squadrons of Super Hornets after it. The map display updated itself, and two small blue rectangles and a blob of red suddenly vanished.

"Contact the 34th Battalion. Someone must have seen _something-_" he was interrupted by one of the technicians before he was able to finish.

"Sir, we're picking up a very strong seismic trail beneath the last know positions of the VF-54 and VF-32's last known position… it's moving!"

"What do you mean, it's moving?"

"The tremors are spreading…the pattern…S-sir, it looks more like some sort of a drill, or a-a metro train for the lack of better term! But I can't tell anything without anyone having visual confirmation."

O'Neil clicked his tongue. Something was wrong. Very wrong. "Get me all artillery units within the range of that… whatever the hell it is. I want it dead. Bury it alive. Meanwhile, advise the 34th Battalion of the situation and have them recon the area in force. 66th Battalion will cover for their position…"

"Sir!" Another soldier reported from his computer station. "Triangulation of the tremor pattern suggests that it's heading towards the Hive!"

_The Divers!_

"Damn it! Contact the Divers immediately! What's the ETA?"

"We can't say for certain. The echo is getting distorted by artillery fire. The only thing I can say is where it's going, and that it's big."

_Shit fucking God-damn-it. So much for "reliable" intel against the BETA…_ The General nodded grimly, before looking back to the battle display. The best they could try to do was to warn the divers – a warning that they might not even receive. The rest was up to them. And whatever God they believed in.

* * *

"We've reached the 4 klick mark Ma'am. We're almost there."

The Space Force TSFs boldly advanced through the Hive, meeting only moderate opposition. But that was about to change.

"Wait a second!" One of the pilots called over the open channel. "I'm getting a large-scale seismic flux incoming…but it's not coming from ahead…or behind…hmm, from the..left? Yes, definitely left, but there is no…"

Max' eyes widened as her realized what was going on. They were had. "We have to pull back away from the wall! The BETAs are-"

It was then where the wall exploded.

A shower of rocks and dust plunged onto the leading elements of Comet that were standing a tad too close to left Hall wall. Two Strike Eagles were destroyed instantly – another one was ground down by Destroyers that almost immediately surged forward.

Bishop gave the order to fall back, but by then it was too late – the Divers were engaged in melee, and would have to fight for their lives.

Yuuya grunted as Destroyers ran past him, narrowly missing his TSF's arm. The bayonet dragged across the carapace to no effect, before being knocked off, the rifle with it. He executed a sudden boost-jump backwards, avoiding another Destroyer, before a charging Grappler rammed straight into him, its claws bearing down with intention of smashing him to bits.

Pushing on Black Widow's throttle, raising one of his arms to block one of the claws, while twisting his machine to avoid another- with a window of a few seconds, Yuuya plunged his remaining rifle's bayonet through the Grappler's main nerve centre, leaving the creature paralyzed and barely alive, a condition rectified by a single 36mm depleted uranium HVAP shell.

But it was no time to rest or gloat.

_I guess it's time._

His TSF arms automatically responded to controls he inputted, returning the rifle to its "holster" – and moving back to grab the handles on his swords. He breathed in and out, as Tanks begun to swarm in. He had trained with halberd-type weapons, but used them only twice in his entire life.

_No rest for the wicked._

His TSF slashed forward, decapitating another pair of Tanks. Arching his blades downwards, Yuuya pushed the throttle and pulled one of the airbrakes. The Black Widow danced in a 360 degree circle, its blades leaving a stream of Tank bodily fluids and parts streaking through the air. He then immediately jumped over a Grappler, before hacking the creature to death.

Several Tanks immediately lunged at him, their fangs showing, only to meet the hard super carbon blades.

Around him, the remaining Comets didn't fare any worse. Bursts of 36mm fire and precise knife cuts put down BETA after BETA, while Bishop's own YF-23 danced in a sea of purple-red-green blood. After several minutes, the ambush was over.

"Grey, report." Bishop's authoritative voice cut through the idle chatter, as her Black Widow climbed over a heap of corpses, searching for anything her blades might have missed.

"Widrow, Olinsky and Jethry are dead. Valcrux's and Sovia's TSFs suffered some damage, but they can still fight."

"Our guests?"

Grey's Raptor – now marginally stained by the mixture of BETA fluids - slightly turned towards their flank.

"Infinities have fared pretty well so far. No damage."

"Good." Bishop breathed out. "Any idea how the fuck this happened?"

Yuuya winced. Bishop didn't usually swear unless she was _pissed_. Not that she didn't have the right to be – the Hive had now killed 3 of their comrades, and they would be dammned if they didn't leave this place without shooting it up.

"Destroyers can't break through rock so fast… unless-"

"Comet-6 here," Alice's voice cut in. "We've found something you'd like to see, ma'am."

The group of TSFs moved up to the small platoon the guard the now-vacant Drift. Its lead machine, the borrowed EMD Phase 2 F-22A, pointed its rifle downwards.

"Looks like Laser-class to me," Alice said softly.

Well, they weren't exactly, but if Yuuya tried hard enough, it wasn't difficult to picture the corpses as the said species. Most (that is, those which weren't horribly massacred) had the general appearance of Laser-class: Small, cancerous body on twin legs, and a pair of big, glassy eyes.

But they were too small – far too small, and if the wounds were anything to go by, even more frail then the usual Laser-class.

"…Prototypes?" Bishop whispered.

"A possibility. We don't know exactly how BETAs are made, but given that they're organic, it's likely that they're grown somehow," Max summed as he overlooked the newly-made hole.

"And anything that can melt armor off a battleship can break down rocks, I bet," Yuuya finished.

"…God-_damn_. We been fighting oversized mining machines all this time?" someone asked.

"Maybe, maybe not," Max countered, as he stared into the depth of the tunnel. "More importantly, if the BETA are digging up in-between the Halls, then that means that we're probably going to see more of those ambushes along the way."

"True enough." Bishop nodded, as she overlooked the crudely made tunnel, trying to determine any apparent structural weaknesses. "Recommendations?"

"I'd take my chances and go through here." Max said, hushing the rest of the team. "Change the axis of our attack, catch them by surprise."

"What?" An unknown voice cut in, which Yuuya realized to be Leon. "That's crazy! What if there are more of them down this tunnel? It's too tight! We won't be able to evade if they come charging at us again!"

"It's a reasonable risk. But BETAs are not repetitively brilliant – chances are that the groups in other Hall are too busy digging over there."

"You have no way of knowing that!" Leon shot back. "Wasn't that the whole point of training you put us through?"

"The point was also about being able to adapt while remembering that BETA are just above stupid, deadly animals. Anyway, the decision is ultimately Bishop's."

The woman in question turned to Fourth Squadron's CO, one of the few Captains in the Comets, and unofficially one of Bishop's advisors. "Sven? What do you think?"

The mustachioed man scratched his chin, his thoughtful frown visible over the comm link display. "I don't know. As Max said, it's probable that the BETA will dig through up ahead, and we'll be forced to fight them… but just the same, passing through here might be risky in of itself. "

Bishop nodded, narrowing her eyes as the gears in her head begun to turn. Optimally, it would be wise to at least send a scouting team through – but given the time constraints, and poor communications on this level of the hive, it was unfeasible at this time. And Max' logic had a point – once BETA did undertake some action, it would usually be executed in a big, time-consuming manner.

"Very well then," She finally spoke up. "We will take the tunnel."

"What?" Leon spoke in a stunned voice, before his squad mates managed to shut him up.

"At very least, we'll be able to catch them while they're digging through. It will be easier to fight without having to watch our flanks _all_ the time."

Nods of confirmation followed from the Comets as they reloaded their weapons, ready for the next impromptu stage of the plan.

"Well!" Yuuya finally spoke, trying his hardest to not come off positively _smug_. "A certain someone was speaking about seizing the initiative a while back. Why don't we see how that works out?"

* * *

_Sometime later, entryway to the Main Hall_

Bishop breathed in and out as her YF-23 chopped through another Grappler. The strategy of changing their direction of attack had worked, allowing them to surprise quite a few BETA groups, moving their timetable up considerably.

But that didn't mean the BETA didn't put up a fight.

Even with much, much smaller numbers than expected during a Hive infiltration, the Americans faced stiff resistance within the alien structure, slowly sapping their strength – their fuel, their ammunition, their troops.

Frowning, she examined the readouts from her HUD display. The blade she had been using had became too fragile by now - forcing it to be discarded as it was. With both of her blades used, she also ejected the auxiliary weapon pylons that carried them, reducing the weight of her craft. At very least, she would stop eating through even more fuel then she already was.

Not that _that_ mattered much. She was already running on fumes and down to her last mags, and her accompanying soldiers were not particularly better off.

She looked back up as a beeping sound of an incoming call came in over her comms.

"Alice?"

The black-haired, amber-eyed girl had remained steadfast over the comm.

"15 minutes out Colonel, we're pushing it."

Bishop's black-colored TSF peered over the ridge. "It's fine. We'll make it. The Main Hall?"

"I've narrowed down the seismic readings," the ember-eyed girl spoke over the sounds of rapid tapping on her TSFs control pad. "It looks like one BETA group just left through another hall. We still have another in, and without visual confirmation, I can't tell what kind of ugly faced beasts are down there, except that there isn't anything bigger than a Destroyer."

Bishop nodded. The decision to shift their Hall of attack did indeed manage to buy them some time – as they advanced they found several groups trying to burrow through to their original Hall, making them all too easy targets. Still, there was only so far tricks could take them – it was now the time for direct assault, a contest of strength against strength.

She took a look across her force. All things considered, the Comets had done very well, but signs of fatigue and damage begun to shine through their machines. White armor had begun to be marred by dirt and blood, with long gashes marking each strike that came too close for comfort.

"Comet One to all Comet callsigns. Alright, this is how we do it – my element takes point. Infinities – when we dive in to the BETA, you move around right in a flanking maneuver and get some suppressive fire on their rear. Max and Alice, you take the left flank and manage the Infinities. Rest of you will be moving after us and providing direct fire support. We'll use formation Arrowhead-1. Is that clear?"

Hearing no voices of opposition, Bishop nodded to herself, before reloading the near-empty magazine of her XAMWS-24. "Good. Then it's showtime, ladies and gentlemen."

The group of several Strike Eagles, led by two YF-23s jumped out of the ridge and boosted straight for the end of the wide, vast chamber – straight for the vast group of Tanks, Grapplers and Destroyers, which immediately zeroed in on their targets.

A barrage of 120mm and 36mm rounds tore into the BETA first, bathing them in a sea of blood and entrails as First Platoon tore into the BETA formation. Their pilots reserved nothing, and precious reserves of ammo begun to run dry. Behind them however, the Infinities moved – in less than a second the phalanx of pitch-black Raptors moved behind their vanguard, before swiftly breaking into two elements of three machines. Circling around the horde in a manner befitting of the bird-of-preys, the 3rd Generation machines had finally gotten the chance to unleash their full power.

A cascade of fire burned through the BETA flanks, mauling Tanks and Grapplers alike, massacring Destroyers from behind where their mighty carapace armor could not protect them. Several dozens of specimens rushed to tackle the new foe, but just as rapidly, the Raptors withdrew upwards like bats, raining fire into the BETA below.

Just what the vanguard unit needed.

With their enemy divided and ammunition depleted, Bishop's troops did the only other thing they could – they drew their blades.

Yuuya roared as his sword smashed from overhead, tearing a Grappler apart. He spun into a wide circular movement, the swords following him, carving a bloody swath through the BETA tanks. Behind him, the Strike Eagles quickly and efficiently worked their knifes, putting down their enemies down with precise, forceful cuts.

Just then, the third part of their force casually arrived, their burst fire tearing into the gaps in-between the first force's TSFs, putting down even more BETA. It was a slaughter fest – quick, hard and brutal, and numerous sprays of blood drowned the once-pristine TSFs. _That_ was what Space Force's Orbital Corps had trained so hard for, and now that training was paying off.

"Wait!" Someone from the back ranks shouted. "I have incoming! From the other Hall!" Yuuya cursed as his tactical map updated with dozens of new readouts.

They were doing just fine – but it was a fragile equilibrium. If any more BETAs would join the fray, they could easily overwhelm the Comets.

"Infinities, intercept! Second Squadron, move in!" Bishop swiftly ordered, her own Black Widow now down to its pair of PB-knives, her shattered blade etched into a bleeding Destroyer behind.

It was then when the back of the chamber exploded.

A squadron of white F-15Es and a squadron of dark blue F-18Es flew over the new horde, their guns blazing away, seemingly without restraint, as if 36mm ammo was going out of style.

"Comet Lead, this is Flare Lead, we got this one covered."

There was a collective cheer as the lead elements of US Space Force's 108th Orbital Regiment -the Flares - landed alongside the Marine Corps Super Hornets in the middle of massacred BETA horde and began firing on their surrounding BETA, quickly scattering them into several small pockets.

"Thought you'd never make it, Heimroth." Bishop smiled, greeting the Colonel commanding her sister Regiment, to which Flare Lead merely returned a cheerful thumbs up, as his troops sanitized the Hall of alien lifeforms.

"Couldn't let those Force Recon Marines beat me here, Bishop," he chuckled. "I bet their CO a case of Maker's Mark we'd make it in time. Right then, let's get this show on the road!"

Yuuya released the breath he was unconsciously holding, and began to relax for the first time since entering the Hive. _Maybe I'm not going to die so soon after all._

__CHAPTER END

**Author's Note: **Vicious cycle of illness, homework and exams ho!

In case you have been wondering why there was no update for so long.

Also, praise be to the WildGoose, who has been kind enough to do the pre-reading on this fic for some time now; Prologue chapters and Chapter 1 have now been revised and updated, do check them out if you can; I'm sure the quality of work had improved substantially.

In other news, I am now officially on winter holidays, which should give me at least several weeks of free time. Expect the next delay to be much, much shorter. At any rate, we're now almost over with Cerberus Arc. Next chapter we will see the conclusion, and Yuuya setting off to Yukon.

Of course, this being Muv-Luv, and me being me, expect some blood, sweat and tears.

Also, I have to say, those MiG-29s and Berkut in the anime are positively badass.


	9. Chapter 6: Crucible

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Muv-Luv franchise in any way, shape or form; it is the property of its respective owners.

"_So come, bring on all that you've got  
Come hell, come high water,  
Never stop  
Unless you are 40 to 1  
Your lives will soon be undone!"_

"_I give my life,_

_Not for honor,_

_- But for you."_

Yuuya let out another breath as his YF-23 lined up for tanking, as a nearby F-15E attached the necessary hoses from the fuel container. As he thanked the other pilot, Yuuya couldn't help but contemplate how , the brutal combat effectiveness of the Black Widow came at the expense of a rather significant fuel drain…

Behind him, the mix of white and black and dark blue machines of the Space Force and Marine Corps moved about, getting fresh mags or new weapons altogether, collected from unlocked containers that were dropped together with the bombs. With no BETAs in sight, the Divers logically chose to rearm and refuel, knowing that the biggest part was still ahead.

"Attention all Comets and Infinities, this is Bishop speaking," his commander spoke up just in time to match Yuuya's thoughts. "We're beginning the final phase of the operation. In 15 minutes, the Flares will detonate the bombs to blow open the membrane blocking our access to Reactor level. Following that, Captain Gray and Force Recon's VMJ-125 will advance towards the target with C-7 MD charges. Comet's 3rd Squadron will be OPCON to Captain Gray, and will escort the bomb team to the objective." Left unsaid was that 3rd Squadron's casualties had left them as little more than an oversized flight, with limited combat effectiveness – Bishop judged they would be of more use assisting Max, rather than holding the line. " All remaining units will stay behind; there's a high probability that any remaining BETA groups within the Hive will try and retake the Main Hall. Flares and VMJ-67's Daggers will support us. We're going to try and hold the enemy at these two points," she marked the zones on the tacmap, where the forces would emplace their base of fire, "to interdict their approach. We will make sure that no more BETA will follow our brothers and sisters." Bishop's vibrant, green eyes mellowed a bit, and her lips turned ever so slightly upwards, as if in a soft, angelic smile "You have all made me proud. I am confident that no matter what happens, you will do your duty." Her eyes hardened once more, before she saluted them.

_So, this is it._

Yuuya suddenly realized that what they were about to do had never succeeded – hell, never before had anyone reached the Main Hall conventionally. It felt… a little overwhelming, to be honest. There was so much that could go wrong, and so much that they couldn't allow to go wrong.

He shook his head – it was still way too early to think about it, and he certainly didn't want to jinx the whole team. Tapping a sequence on his TSF controls, he instead opened a comm. channel to his best friend.

"If you're about to make some sappy "be okay" speech, please save it." Max's voice greeted him before he even had the chance to speak. "I'll be fine with the tears of young maidens and the blood of monsters."

"…okay. If you can joke and be a jerk, then you definitely don't need my concern. Bye." Yuuya comically went silent, while a fresh, young girlish voice broke into laughter as Alice joined their conversation.

"Some people never change, do they?" She winked to both men as her Raptor marched to the rally point of its platoon.

"Tell that to him, not to me," Yuuya shot back, before breaking into a grin. "Anyway. Even if you already know it – good luck Max. You'll probably need it."

"No more than you. I doubt that BETA will just let go; there will probably be a load of them charging in here the minute we reach that reactor. Compared to that, setting up a couple of bombs will be easy. "

"Point taken," Yuuya replied as he observed the remaining TSFs fall into the position. The uneven surface of the Main Hall provided at least some rudimentary cover and terrain advantage, which the US forces begun to augment with bodies of dead Destroyer-class BETA – the large carapaces on the creatures made for a pretty good cover, especially given the BETA's apparently strict no-friendly-fire record.

Something beeped in the background and Max turned his head aside, before turning back to his former wingman. "That's my signal. The demolitions experts will blow up the membrane leading to the reactor. After that…well, do your best people. Toodles!"

And with that, his image blinked out, before the Raptor slowly rose into the air and boosted towards the 3rd Squadron.

Alice sighed as she adjusted her hands on the pair of flight sticks. "Guess that means we should get ready too. Let's do our best, Yuuya."

"Sure will." Yuuya grinned, as he loaded a fresh magazine into the magazine well of his XAMWS-24, before turning his craft to face the rest of the Comets. If the BETA wanted a fight, well, they would get one.

* * *

It all happened in an instant.

The final entryway was protected by a large membrane – one that was still opaque, though the sections closest to the wall had begun to turn into a hardened carapace, showcasing the frightening ability of BETA to survive even the harshest conditions…and thrive.

But it didn't thrive for much longer, as several thermobaric warheads embedded into it exploded. Simultaneously, a separate charge exploded over a shell-like appendage that extended from the feet of the "gate". Indentified in a secret portion of the Volks data as the "Gate Brain" strain, it reportedly controlled the opening and closing of the membrane. Somewhat wisely, the humans did not comment on the sheer idiocy of placing the only gate-control mechanism on the side that could be taken by an enemy force, allowing them to open and close the said gate at their leisure.

After all, as Napoleon had once said, never interrupt your enemy when he makes a mistake.

The explosion shattered the case, and the conductive liquid inside exploded into a fiery cascade. The internal, grossly oversized_ thing_ shuddered before exploding, sending a ripple of muscled twists towards the gate, which twisted into a definitely unnatural angle. This only served to suck -in the blast from the gate-attached charges, and the entire thing exploded into a grotesque mass of roasted chitin and heated gas.

Max waited only a bare minimum before the blast wave roared across the short corridor to the reactor, before giving the signal.

"3rd Squadron, Force Recon 125, advance! If anything moves, kill it!" The phalanx of white-and-black Eagles along with deep blue Super Hornets charged through cooling alien remains, their guns ready. Behind them, several TSFs carried several large containers with the designated charges, escorted by a single black Raptor.

That was the point when things started to go wrong.

"Detecting seismic wave!" One of the pilots rapidly reported over the tacnet, as the chamber begun to unnaturally shake. Stones plunged down from the ceiling and the ground itself seemed to coil and moan under the feet of remaining defenders. "I-It's off the scale! I've never seen anything like it!"

Bishop gritted her teeth. "Here it comes! Everyone! Stand your ground! We can't let them get past us!"

And then the ground exploded.

The far side of the chamber – the same one from which the Comets initially emerged from –, exploded into a shower of rock and dust. The Divers could only watch in awe as an enormous form of BETA, more similar to a tunnel-drilling machine than a biological organism, emerged from the dust, it's maw opening into a massive tunnel. A tunnel filled to the brim with BETA strains.

"Mother of God…" one of the Divers whispered, as the magnificent, and utterly terrifying sight unfolded before them. "How are we supposed to kill this thing!?"

Luckily, her commander remained more lucid. "Missiles!" Bishop shouted, as her YF-23 engaged its boost engines. "Fire half of everything you got! Aim for the opening of that large BETA!"

"Yes ma'am!" The sharp voice of their commander had whipped the pilots into action. "Comet 2-7, Fox 2!"

"Comet 2-8, Fox 2!"

"Comet 1-4, Fox 2!"

"Comet 4-5, Fox 2!"

"Comet 4-6, Fox 2!"

"Flare Lead to missile teams, give them a hand!"

"Roger! Flare 1-7, Fox 2!"

"Flare 1-8, Fox 2!"

"Dagger 5, Fox-2!"

"Dagger 6, Fox-2."

The designated Strike Eagles, along with Alice's Raptor, opened up from their mounted Missile containers. The small, cube-like boxes slightly rose up from their default position, before opening and revealing dozen of missile tubes loaded with the latest American blast fragmentation, cluster and shaped charge explosive warheads. Each had fired twelve of them – in total a salvo of 108 missiles streaked towards the gaping maw, gifts of the USSF Orbital Divers and USMC Force Recon Marines, for the endless hordes carried within.

The ground exploded yet again, but this time with more fire and blood. Countless Grapplers, Tanks, Soldiers and Warrior-class BETAs disappeared in fireballs, while Destroyer hulks flew into the air like discarded toys.

But it was not enough.

Like a tide, the remaining BETA raced onwards, without care or consequence to their losses. Perched on their ledges, or boosting above the ground, the American TSFs took only a second to continue gazing upon this sight, before their rifles growled with the sound of 36mm chainguns and 120mm smoothbore cannons. Tracer rounds lit up the endless cavern spaces as they struck targets; BETA blood and fluids colored the dark, metallic earth, as their entrails were viciously ripped out by modern weaponry. But that did not slow them down.

"Dammit!" One of the Flare pilots reported over the common radio frequency. "Comet Lead, this is Flare 1-6! I have several dozen Tanks and Grappler-class trying to surround us by our left flank! Watch out!"

"Flare 1-6, Comet Lead, acknowledged. Thanks for the heads -up." Bishop took only a single glance at her tactical map, without even taking the finger off the trigger of the XMAWS-24 rifles. "Bridges! Keep them at bay. Sven will back you up!"

"Yes ma'am!" Yuuya curtly nodded before pushing his YF-23 off the impromptu "Destroyer Barricade", and down on the ground, together with several F-15E Strike Eagles from 4th Squadron. A lone Tank rushed out from the main force, and attempted to latch onto him, only to be kicked aside with full force by the Black Widow's sharpened super-carbon foot. "Let's go, apes!" He shouted as his own rifles roared to life with intermingled salvos of 36mm rounds and 120mm explosives. "Let's sweep the field for them!"

* * *

In contrast to the pitched fighting outside, the Reactor Chamber's interior seemed eerily quiet. The soft blue glow, emitted by the bulbous sphere at its centre, gave the entire area a truly unearthly feeling. In some way, it was a pity that this place belonged to an enemy ; there was a certain surreal beauty here, as if a painting brought to life.

Ignoring any of this, Max wasted no time in getting his men to work, setting up charges in pre-arranged position. The Space Force TSFs wasted no movement or minute. They worked quickly, knowing that each minute might mean death for another of their comrades outside. Around them, the Force Recon Marines of VMJ-125 vigilantly watched over the surroundings. They were given orders to shoot on sight, and were all too glad to carry them out, if needed.

"Huh? What's that? I have movement at 3 o'clock! Right at the…reactor?" One of the Marines reported as their Super Hornets turned around, trying to visually identify their new target.

The creature atop of the reactor curiously studied the newcomers, deliberating what would be the best course of action. While it lacked the same defense matrix as its more developed counterpart, it had manage to redirect its working existences to contain the threat. And it seemed like the hostile existences had only focused on a single Access Corridor. Perhaps it would have been possible to…

The last thing that the creature felt, was overwhelming hatred and anger. And the last thing it saw was a flurry of colors, shaped like a whirlwind of reds and oranges.

_Aggression_

_Defiance_

_Warning! Quantum interference detected. Recommend…_

It then died, ripped apart by a salvo of 120mm explosive rounds. It's body shattered, delicate components scattering around to the floor, snapping like thin glass.

A single black machine hovered over it like a bird of prey, it's multiple blue eyes staring impassively at the corpse.

"Hurry up with the bombs. We're already out of the time. And… prepare for combat."

* * *

Yuuya panted as his YF-23 pulled into a tight 360 degree turn. The bayonet on one of his rifles streaked, through the air, gutting through multiple Tank-class species, while the sharpened armor on his other leg followed to kill off whatever survived the first blow. The three other rifles continued to fire, guided by the Black Widow's advanced fire-control OS.

But it was not enough.

Using a boost dodge to get out of a Grappler's way, he landed back along with several Strike Eagles from 4th Squadron's 2nd flight, as they continued their continuous barrage of attacks. Each round tore through their relentless adversaries, shattering bones, spilling blood and severing muscles. Dead bodies piled around them, as BETA after BETA fell.

And it was still not enough.

At times, it seemed as if the only thing that separated the army of angry BETA from their position was the endless stream of rounds. Yuuya had no idea of how many of those critters could have been carried around by that huge worm, and he had honestly completely ignored it by now, diverting his entire attention into trying to keep the elements of First and Second Squadron alive. Which was working – but only barely.

"Dammn it! I have Tanks latching up across my entire machine! Someone get them off me!" One of the pilots shouted, and Yuuya cursed before pulling his machine back. Locating his comrade, Yuuya quickly swooped in, using the speed and precision of his YF-23 to quickly dispose of the Tanks using his rifle's bayonets.

"Bridges!" Another of 4th's pilots called him, as the sound of chaingun fire intensified in the background. "We're being overrun! Several BETAs are making their way past us and straight for the 4th's Captain! At this rate, we'll be overrun!"

Yuuya clicked his tongue as he analyzed the situation. Comets' forward position was being steadily overwhelmed. Although they were able to kill BETAs by the dozens, the sheer numbers the enemy threw at them meant that they couldn't completely hold off the enemy, and every BETA that made it past them necessitated someone from fire support to take it out, holding up precious time and wasting ammunition.

"It can't be helped then. Fall back to the final line, down by the barricade. Go, I'll cover you!" Yuuya ordered as his Black Widow turned to face the oncoming tide. The XAMWS-24 rifles belched fire from all barrels, while the Strike Eagles begun to slowly retreat, step by step, firing as they went.

"Comet 4-1, this is Comet 1-3." Yuuya radioed in to Captain Sven as he begun to fall back with the rest of the troops. "Captain Rick, we can't defend our current position. We're falling back right under your barricade. I'm covering the retreat. Watch out for friendlies!"

"Comet 1-3, Comet 4-1, copy that," Rick Sven replied, as his Strike Eagle continued to provide long-range fire support, while several wingmen focused their attention on the walls, picking off rapidly moving Tank-class BETA that tried to flank them from above.

"Yuuya, watch out!"someone shouted, just in time for Yuuya to noticed a rapidly charging Destroyer-class. With a yell, he fired off the last two Anti-Armor Sabot shells, making a pair of holes within the creature, before impaling it with one of the rifle bayonets through the crack. The creature plowed into the ground, blood slowly soaking through its wounds.

"_We need to hold out just a little more…just a little…_

"Shit, this is Comet 4-4, I got leakers in my zone! Winchester, say again, I am Winchester! Engaging with knives, need backup!" Another pilot shouted in panic.

"Comet 4-4, this is Comet 4-1, I copy, moving to assist. Stand fast." Sven's Strike Eagle responded to the call, turning with one of its escorts in order to assist.

"Good copy, Captain, but you'd better get here fa-AAAARRGGHH!" The call suddenly turned into a cacophony of pained shouts and sounds of torn metal. Elsewhere, vicious fighting continued, heedless of deaths and the violence with which aliens and men perished.

"Comet 4-4, respond! Comet 4-4, respond!"

"Comet 4-6, need backup!"

"Comet 1-3, engaging, got you covered Comet 4-6!"

"Thanks! 4-6 falling back!"

"Comet 4-3, being overrun, can't hold my pos, need help!"

"Shit! Someone get these motherfuckers off me! Nononon-"

_Goddamnit! We're getting chewed up and spit out here!"_

* * *

Bullets whizzed about as the four F-22A Raptors of the Infinities aggressively defended their sector from the overwhelming enemy advance. All around them, fellow U.S. pilots were engaged in equally fierce fighting, and the tacnet was full of shouts, yells and orders as the men and women attempted to hold off the alien enemy. The ground was increasingly covered with alien carcasses, and the solid dirt under the TSFs feet begun to take a shade of deep reddish brown chalk.

But the BETA pressed on.

Leon Kuze cursed as he dodged another Grappler arm, before shredding the creature to pieces with 36mm rifle fire. He promptly turned one of his arms, and fired off a 120mm explosive round. The blast ripped a hole in surrounding BETA formation, sending smaller species and their internal organs flying. But the fire from the explosion's blast didn't even fully dissasipate before fresh BETA poured into the breach. Leon instantly aimed his Raptor's rifles and pulled the trigger. The sustained fire lasted for less than 10 seconds, before the two arm AMWS' clicked empty. Blowing off another curse, Leon deployed the Raptor's switch-blade type knives, and dived into the fray. The super-hardened carbon blades arced in the air as Raptor turned its extensive maneuverability and power into the field of close combat. Grapplers and Tanks felled as knives tore through them, while the two remaining AMWS' continued to fire in short bursts, keeping off any Tanks from catching Leon from the back or sides.

But it was still not enough.

Leon growled as another wave of Tanks surrounded his craft. As the creatures lunged at him, he accelerated to the left, before suddenly changing his course to the right. The first tank was squarely smashed through by the knife's blade. The Raptor immediately twirled around, it's armored leg smashing across the Tanks, too quickly to be effectively grabbed upon. At the same time, without the sharpened armor vanes, most of the Tanks remained alive, if with heavy internal damage. The AMWS roared to life again, the 36mm splattering the still-surviving Tanks into the paste…before the dreaded alerts of "empty magazines" ran amok.

"_Aw __shit_" Was the only coherent thing Leon could think at the moment, as he prepared for another round of CQC.

Predictably, another stream of Tanks leaped at his machine. Setting the boosters to maximum, Leon skillfully maneuvered his Raptor mere meters above the ground, punching, slashing and tearing through Tank limbs. The sheer momentum and blasts of air had sent Tanks and their amputee limbs flying. But finally, the mathematical probability striked at the lone Raptor. A single lucky Tank managed to latch onto the Leon's Raptor. Almost instantly, it's jaws bitten into the machine's composite armor, trying to anchor itself against the sudden, unpredictable maneuvers. With a well redirected thrust however, Leon managed to kill the beast – only for another two Tanks to jump through the temporarily lowered guard. Collision alerts blared in Leon's cockpit as the Tank's nimble limbs smashed against the composite armor, their fang biting into arms and back of the F-22A.

Swiveling his jump-jets into reverse position, Leon executed a short jump backwards, while pulling the air breaks to twist the machine around, in-flight, as if dancing a pirouette. One of the Tanks slipped off – the armor element from the arm ripping off from the frame, sending the creature flying into the other BETA. However, the other one maintained its hold as the Raptor landed, crawling atop of the unit's head. Cursing yet _again_, Leon drove one of his knives overhead, hoping to impale the creature, when one of its arms shot out. The knife drove through it like through a tissue paper, but the impact was still strong enough to deflect the attack. The Tank gleefully bared its fangs, as Leon suddenly realized that without the head, his Raptor would be blind.

He moved his other hand, but he already knew that it was too slow. Before the blade would drive through the Tank, it would already be through with his mech's head, at which point he would be an all-too-easy picking for the other Tanks.

Suddenly the world shook at the Tank jerked as fell backwards, while a fountain of bloody suddenly sprayed from the mouth over the Raptor's head. Checking his six, Leon noticed the fourth member of his training unit, Alice Neverine, landing her borrowed Raptor as her AMWS rifles fired off in semi-automatic mode, each shot cleanly taking out a target.

"The hell are you doing Kuze!" Her voice would have been like a whip, if not for its tad higher pitch. "You were supposed to be withdrawing with the rest of your unit! Are you out of your mind!?"

"I was trying to…" Leon panted as he begun to regain his bearings "…hold those things off. You know, following my _orders._"

"Your fucking orders are whatever I or the Colonel tell you to!" The curse seemed almost unnatural, coming from a woman that always looked so composed and stoic. "We're withdrawing to the final defensive line! Is that clear, or do I have to shoot you myself?"

"Y-Yes Ma'am". Leon shuddered. After the latest brush with death, he had no desire to piss off the woman who just saved his ass. Not a second later the two battered Raptors rose into the air, right before a flock of advancing BETA.

For her part, Alice knitted her eyebrows as she begun to lay down precision fire support, as the two machines flew back to their pre-determined positions on the final defensive line.

"_Why!? Dammit, why!? We were doing so well...why must everything fall apart now...!? Just a little more...we need to hold out...just a little more to get through this!"_

* * *

The two machines continued to fall back, leaving behind a trail of alien bodies as they went.

Bishop gritted her teeth as the main line methodically folded before the unrelenting advance of their enemy. The assault rifles of her Black Widow unceasingly howled with 36mm and 120mm rounds plowed into the mass of the enemy. By now, the BETA numbers have multiplied exponentially. Singular specimens had became an endless group, and the endless group of BETA blended together into a singular, massive wall.

_100 to 1 supremacy alright._ _,_ She thought grimly, and she maneuvered her machine to avoid another blow.

_We just need a little more time, damn it. Max should be almost done…we just need to hold off now. I have to buy us the time…_

Shouts broke out on her tacnet, when the BETA once again pushed on top of their lines. Nimble Tank-classes begun to scale the dead Destroyers, jumping on top of the defenders. Individual machines were overwhelmed, forced into knife-fighting, having to stop shooting to hack at BETA swarming themselves and their comrades. Each interrupted Gun- Sweeper multiplied the number of BETAs that broke through, and situation rapidly went from worse to outright dire.

Bishop flipped over yet another Grappler, viciously shredding it into pieces with her guns. Behind her however, her wingmate was not so fortunate, as hardened carapace claws seared through an F-15E, ripping out one of the booster engines and separating the unit's cockpit from the rest of the body, leaving it at the hand of merciless Tanks, which hungrily ripped the unit apart, biting through the armor, cables and internal frame, before finally being put down by Bishop. But for the pilot, it was too late.

"We're being overrun!" One of the pilots shouted as her own Strike Eagle wrestled with another Tank. "We can't hold!"

"We can't fight like this. There's just too many of them!" Another one shouted over the roar of all four assault rifles.

"All remaining First and Second Squadron pilots, listen up!" Bishop shouted into her headset. "We have to buy the Bomb Squad a little more time. We have to clear up the field and re-establish our lines. All units, follow me. Advance with all your might!"

With a bloodcurdling yell, Bishop's Black Widow jumped forward, straight into the wall of alien horrors, dropping another pair of assault rifles and drawing its swords. She didn't even try and count how many aliens she had killed. She merely slashed, cut and chopped. Her Black Widow whirled from one hostile to another, its blades spilling a tornado of blood. Behind her, the remnants of her squadrons charged as well, blasting without restraint with their rifles, and slashing and chopping with their knives.

But there were too many targets. No matter how many they killed, far more BETA remained ready to fill the ranks of the killed. Bishop felt her assault being stopped and repulsed, as despite her efforts, her Black Widow was forced to move back bit-by-bit. Behind her, the Strike Eagles were similarly pushed back, some with missing limbs, some barely holding off multiple Tanks from devouring them whole.

But the few minutes they bought were enough for Flare Regiment's pilots to reorganize themselves, and resume their fire support. As fire rained from behind them, Bishop's men to quickly jumped back and regrouped, forming a loose ring of defenses around the Reactor entryway.

_This is taking too long."_ Bishop gritted her teeth as her last pair of rifles howled endlessly, throwing out a stream of 36mm rounds which tore through the BETA in front. _"At this rate, we will be overrun…"_

"New contact! It's...God-dammit! It's a Fort-class! I repeat, Fort classes have emerged from enemy carrier!"

"How!?" One of the Divers cried out. "How the hell can they do this? It's…it's not fair damnit!"

"Fuck fair!" Bishop growled, as her bayonet rammed through a charging Tank-class. "In any case, the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"What about the missiles, Colonel?" One of the Eagle drivers asked over the roar of his own AMWS.

"Negative on that. We'll need those warheads if we're to escape them later on. If we spend them all here, we'll have a hard time getting out. "

"Then what do you suppose we should do Colonel?" Another pilot asked with out-of-breath voice, as her Strike Eagle wrestled with a Grappler-class specimen.

Bishop sighed as her rifle ammo display read zero once again. Switching from chainguns to 120mm smoothbores, she fired off the last of her of high explosive ammunition, the explosion throwing the BETA in front of her like a rag doll, showering her Black Widow with rocks, dirt and blood.

"The only thing we can." She muttered as she drew her last intact Melee Halberd. "Infinities on me! Comet First and Second Squadrons, cover my advance!"

The Black Widow threw itself forwards, pressing through the gap in BETA force, one it had just forged by its 120mm guns.

Although surprised, the American forces did not visibly hesitate. The Raptors caught up in a flash, their guns freely blazing away as they trailed behind the fierce colonel.

"This is 2-1, good copy Comet Lead, we're ready to assist-" Suddenly, a barrage of 36mm HVAP rounds burst from the side, tearing through the BETA phalanx. The greedy creatures turned to their new adversary – a couple of battered F-15Es, covered in drying BETA fluids. The momentary split within the endless alien formation was immediately exploited by Bishop , as her Black Widow smashed through the BETA, followed by Infinities.

"Don't stop for anything!" Bishop yelled as her craft whizzed right above the heads of BETA, their specimens rapidly turning away to pursue new threats. "We have to break through!"

The Raptors' guns barked as the 36mm HVAP rounds saturated the ground, blindly fired off into the alien mob – with such a high speed maneuver, the pilots had almost no time to even make rudimentary adjustments to their aim. But even so, the sheer concentration of the BETA meant that aiming was unnecessary, not when the BETA were so tightly packed in together..

And with their speed, it wasn't long before they broke through – proving collectively too fast for BETA to effectively latch on.

But it was just the start.

"Spread out! Surround the Forts and fire all 120mm rounds you have! I will handle the rest." Bishop ordered as she gazed upon the latest two targets – a pair of towering, hornet-esque creatures. They stood tall on their sharpened legs, on the very end of the chamber, in what seemed to be the final attempt by the BETA to crush the Americans.

"_As if I'm going to let you!"_ The Raptors quickly moved to carry out her orders, letting out sporadic volleys of 120mm fire.

As the first Fort wobbled from multiple impacts, Bishop sprang into action. With a savage yell, she swooped in-between the creature's legs, and smashed her sword upward into one of the crevices in their armor, before rapidly splitting it open, spilling bright green fluid and severed muscles. Not taking time to rest, Bishop's Black Widow jumped from point to point, wildly shearing and stabbing the Fort's weak points, the creature's stinger flailing futilely as it tried to nail Bishop. Before long, the mighty creature fell down with a roar. But Bishop didn't stop.

"Keep moving!" She shouted. "We're not done yet!"

She swiftly dodged the stinger of the other Fort, before boosting up to it, closing in for another blow. Her sword struck, painting the air in green as the Fort's muscle mass was torn into shreds by super-sharp carbon blade. She veered to the left, circling the creature to prepare for another strike, as the F-22 rained down the fire on the weakened beast.

That was when its stinger hit.

Like a whip, the purple appendage smashed across the Black Widow's armor, it's edge barely missing the machine's cockpit. Almost immediately, the highly caustic acid burned across the machine, turning portions of sharpened armor into slag.

Before Bishop could react, the whip swung back, slamming into the Black Widow from behind, sending it tumbling down into the ground. Inside the machine, the armored cockpit turned into the trap, as the panel behind Bishop buckled and splintered, sending shards of titanium ricocheting across cockpit. The left part of piloting seat snapped, breaking Bishop's chain into two, and snapping her left shoulder. One of the titanium sheared through her right leg, cracking through outer armor and nearly looping off her leg, were it not for the other side of the leg armor, which failed to break. Several pieces of titanium pierced through the chair itself, smashing onto Reinforced Suit, other than one – one single piece that managed to break through the exoskeleton, biting into Bishop's back; where it split into countless pieces. The seats restraining bolts were finally overwhelmed by the momentum and snapped – ending with Bishop spiraling into the panel ahead, knocking her out.

The Infinities held back momentarily, their shock fighting with heavily ingrained and trained instincts.

"Shit," Leon fiercely cursed. "Colonel's down. Say again, Colonel's down." His Raptor promptly swooped in along with Sharon's , trying to maintain their volume of fire on the Fort-class, even if their remaining 36mm rounds were effectively useless against it.

"Why YOU!" Alice screamed from behind them, as her Raptor raced past them, deploying its knives.

"Wait, Lieutenant!" Keith shouted after her. But the young woman refused to heed him, jumping over the Fort-class' stinger and wielding her knives in a manner that looked more like a bird-of-prey than a TSF.

"God-dammit" Keith sighed in resignation. "Sharon, Leon, get the Colonel's machine out here. Me and Guylos will handle this."

"We can't just leave you sir!" Leon shouted, as he continued to pour on the lead towards the Fort, while Sharon knelt besides Wilma's machine, pulling up transponder data to assess its status.

"You can't help us either, unless you can pull 120s outta your ass, and Sharon won't be able to withdraw alone."

Biting back his retort, Leon nodded, and turned back to Sharon. "Can we move her?"

"We can't pull her out.," Sharon grimaced. "She was hit hard, and her suits computer indicates massive internal damage. If we tried to pull her out fast, we would only do more harm than good. We have to move the whole TSF."

"Shit. Let's hurry then."

Meanwhile, Alice maniacally descended onto Fort, her knives savagely tearing into it. Behind her, Keith Blazer carefully fired his AMWS in controlled bursts, aiming into the gaps between the creature's carapaces.

"McCloud!"

"Yes, sir." The lumbering blond man responded, racing from behind his commander and drawing his own PB knives. Closing in before the Fort could reprioritize its target, he jumped up to the creature's legs, slashing into the joint openings. High-pressure blood sprayed onto the Raptor as it carried out its gruesome task. The creature limped as it lost control over its left legs, letting out a low bass rumble.

"It's not down yet!" Keith shouted. "Nail the bastard's other legs!"

Meanwhile Alice's Raptor jumped down, leveling with the creatures stare. In a second, its stinger raced out, straight into the Raptor. In the last minute, Alice veered aside, and the spike impacted the chest armor at a steep angle, bouncing off, leaving a deep slash instead of a piercing stab. Nevertheless, the blow still did its damage – acid sprayed onto the torso, quickly pooling into the cut, and dissolving the armor into caustic slag which poured inside. Circuits shorted out, while droplets of acid melted through the cockpit in a deadly mist.

As the mist hit her, Alice felt pain unbearable, searing pain. But she wouldn't give up, she just couldn't. Despite literally having her Reinforced suit melting away and her flesh burned by liquid fire, Alice did not stop. In an instant, her Raptor's arm fell down like a Hammer of God, slicing the elastic whip that held the stinger. Acid poured out, burning into the Raptor's hand, melting it and the PB knife it carried.

But the damage was done, and the Fort had lost its most potent weapon.

Inside her Raptor, Alice quickly pulled back on the stick, before deactivating her retinal projectors and trying to get off the armor of her Reinforced Suit as it literally melted away. She screamed as the slag composed of plastics and metals burned into her skin. Her eyes involuntarily watered, but the tears caused nothing but pain as the salty water dripped onto the slagged suit.

Meanwhile, McCloud 'and Keith's Raptors closed in on the Fort-class, one blazing with semi-automatic bursts of fire, the other flinging heavy blows that tore into the exposed soft muscle of the creature.

But the creature remained defiant.

It pulled its wounded whip back, hoping to smother the two TSFs. But they dodged effortlessly, while the acid sprayed into the air, several droplets falling onto the Fort's carapace, to decidedly sizzling effect. McCloud's eyes widened as he saw that. _Could it be...?_

His commander wasted no opportunity either. "McCloud!" He barked. "Grab that thing and shove it up its ass! I'll take care of the other Comet!" Not waiting for reply, the other Raptor pulled back, firing short bursts to conserve ammo, while still making itself an attractive target.

Not wasting any time, McCloud kicked himself off the ground, before rapidly switching into the Full-Boost flight mode. The afterburners screamed as a long tail of blue suddenly erupted from Raptor's engines, and the machine closed to the Fort faster than you could say "flash".

With skill borne of years of intense training, practice, and full understanding of his TSF, Guylos dumped his cracked knives and swept his TSF's arms forward, grabbing the spikeless whip just below the point where Alice cut it. Kicking off from his position again, Guylos drove under the Fort as it tried to reel -back its whip, and forced it into the first gap he could find, his Raptor's hands squeezing down, and forcing acid into the wound.

The creature gave out an extremely high pitched scream as it wobbled. The muscles in its remaining legs twisted in an unusual position, before the mighty creature finally fell, face-first into the dirt.

The physically-imposing pilot took a second to appraise his handiwork and verify the monster was dead, before boosting out, right above the heads of Grappler- and Tank-class BETA that swarmed around the Fort-class.

In front of him, Keith Blazer maintained level flight, as he helped to stabilize the damaged Raptor, while at the same time trying to contact remaining allied units.

"Any Comet Battalion callsigns, this is Infinity-1. Come in."

A face of young man, with distinct Asian features and gold eyes popped up on Keith's HUD, much to his own surprise.

"Infinity-1, Comet 1-3. I hear you."

"Lieutenant Bridges? Where's Captain Sven?"

"Dead," The other pilot answered in a cold, bleak voice. "He was pulled down the barricade by several Tanks before we could stop them. What happened to Colonel Bishop?"

"Colonel Bishop's WIA. Who's in command of the Comets now?"

Yuuya closed his eyes momentarily, as if to block out a stab of pain. "Most of the other squadron leaders are KIA. As Colonel Bishop is incapacitated, I am assuming command of the Comets, as the highest ranking pilot."

Keith absently nodded, as the reality hit him. "What are we going to do now?"

* * *

"What are we going to do now?"

It was the one question Yuuya honestly didn't know how to answer. Oh, how he wished that he was faster. By a second, a minute. It didn't matter. If he was just a little bit faster, than maybe...

"_Do it, Yuuya!"_ The memory was still livid. After all, that was only moments ago. _"Please!"The man cried. "Don't let me die like this...! Please, BRIDGES!"_

Just as then, the sound of 36mm assault rifle fire broke him out of the shock.

"We...must withdraw to the Reactor Hall entryway." He hoped that his fear didn't show across the screen. We will make our last stand there."

Blazer grimly nodded, as he himself analyzed the situation. While eliminating the Forts gave Divers some time, and eliminated the main BETA assault force, the allied unit was too exhausted to continue effective defense. All they could do now was a final stand – and pray that there was at least one person still alive that knew the remote detonation codes.

* * *

The remaining American TSFs begun to fall back from their barricades with the cold, methodical movement of people consigned to death penalty. Their weapons continued to fire until they ran out of ammo or overheated, as the remnants of their truly relentless enemy begun to finally overtake their former position. One Strike Eagle raised its AWMS and fired the last of the team's 120mm rounds at the downed Eagles that lay at the side of barricades, ones who were taken out several minutes before as they held off the enemy assault while their Colonel was valiantly fighting. These men and women would leave nothing behind to their enemy – not even their bodies. The explosions scattered the Tanks and wounded the Grapplers, but the final vanguard of BETA force pressed on.

Leon gripped his flight stick as he handed the last of his mags back to Sharon, while accepting a still-unbroken knife from another Comet.

"_So this is what they meant...is this how we will all die?"_

Yuuya himself tried not to look at the wreckage of the machines that Bishop's and Alice's TSFs had became. He had long lost the other rifles, and was left only with a chipped PB-blade that could shatter at any second. Well, at very least he still had his knives.

"Bridges!" The loud voice of the 108th Orbital Drop Regiment's CO and 1st Battalion commander set his mind at ease. At very least, that man knew the codes to the bombs – at very least, they would be able to activate them and fulfill their mission.

"Colonel Heimroth."

The man nodded as the survivors of Flare fell in with the Comets. There were even less of them, although to his surprise, the missile-carrying TSFs were largely unharmed, something that couldn't be said for the Comets. "Bridges, I'm activating the bombs. After that...we'll hold them off for just long enough to make sure they won't disarm them in any way. Set the timer too long and the BETA will just disable it. Set it too short and there's no point trying to exfil. Might as well take as many of those sonsabitches with us."

"Roger that, Sir." It felt funny, Yuuya thought, at how he was so calm, facing what was essentially his own death plan, a death that was guaranteed.

"That won't be necessary, Colonel."

* * *

Everyone's eyes widened, as a familiar voice echoed across the tactical network.

"MAX!"Yuuya shouted, as he turned his Black Widow's head in order to peer into the darkened tunnel that led to the Reactor Hall. The black Raptor that Max piloted was barely visible, as were its two Marine Super Hornet escorts.

"Colonel, we've already activated the bombs." Max continued, heedless of his comrade's surprise. "You have about five minutes to get out of here! Go, get out! This place is gonna blow!"

Heimroth willed himself into action. "All remaining missile units! Empty the bins! Scratch that alien filth! After that, all everyone goes Full Boost and doesn't stop until we run out of fuel!"

Yuuya's head spun as the situation rapidly changed, but he couldn't waste any more time. "All Comets, this is Comet 1-3! Get the wounded! We're leaving!"

In front of them, the missiles pilled in on the advancing BETA, smiting them as if the hand of God itself. The explosions cleared way forward, towards the collapsed ceiling.

No-one even waited for any order. The TSF engines roared to life , their pilots pushing them beyond the limits in this one last run. With brilliant white-blue tails, like those of Comets, the TSFs rocketed out of the entryway, above the minced remains of the alien assault, as even more BETA swarmed in to take the place of their dead fellows.

It was only then, just as Yuuya was about to lift off, the last of the Comets to leave, that he noticed that his friend was not going to follow.

A communication window opened, and Yuuya for the first time since battle's beginning saw his friends face. It was bruised, with a small stream of blood seeping from the lip.

"Forgot to mention... that our machines were too damaged to take off, heh." Max winced in pain. "Listen Yuuya." He heard his friend rapidly type on keyboard, as their laser communications link opened for the last time, and a progress bar appeared, receiving data transmitted from Max's Raptor. "Get this data to central command. They will...know what to do with it. And please..." He smiled weakly. "Live for us. Make sure that the next Comets...will do better than us."

Yuuya's eyes begun to involuntarily moisten. He opened his mouth to speak, and for the last time, Max cut him off.

"Go on, Yuuya! Get the hell outta here! Live on and live well!"

"It's been an honor, Max," said Yuuya, saluting his friend. "I'm glad to-"

"Just fucking go already!" yelled Max. "I don't wanna die with some guy, I want to die in the bed of a hot chick! With a tits in both hands and a cigar in my mouth! You do that for me, okay? And keep my lighter! Get lost already!"

Swallowing, tears running down his cheeks, Yuuya fed power to his engines and boosted away, as behind him, Max's transponder went silent.

"_Why? Why is this happening? Why must we suffer like this!?"_

Maximillian Jeremiah Grey smiled as he saw the rest of the allied force take off.

There was nothing more left to do.

The two Super Hornets remained at their station, laying down fire into the BETA. Their pilots were long-since dead, but as long as the machines were functional, their piloting computers could be put into slave mode and set to autonomous attack. Crude... but necessary. Even in death, they still served.

As the countdown neared zero, Max smiled. It was a positively malicious smile, while his eyes gleamed with predatory fury The Raptor crouched down, as the whine of gas turbine engines became louder, as he brought his engines beyond full power, holding at 100, 110, 120, 130 percent power…even more as he brought the F-22 to the limits of its abilities. Blood colored the air, and the BETA were momentarily forced to step back.

As the countdown on the bombs reached zero, he said only one thing:

"Game's over, Bitch. And you lose."

* * *

The explosion ripped the Hive from inside out. The ground first expanded, then buckled, and finally erupted, before settling down from the shockwave. The crystal spire wobbled and then shattered piece-by-piece, its stabs falling down as if it was a diamond like rainfall.

But the roar of the explosion was soon dwarfed as the troops outside the Hive gave out a monumental cheer. The officers in the Forward Operating Base shook their hands and clapped; service personnel spontaneously hugged each other. Radio nets were filled with whoops and laughter. They had won. The largest battle ever fought in American history, a battle that could have easily been lost, had finally ended in victory. Operation Crucible was over.

In the midst of their jubilation, no one paid any attention to the fleeing remnants of the United States Space Force's Orbital Diver Corps.

* * *

_One week later_

The cold breeze whipped about Yuuya as he stood solemnly before the impromptu monument. The twisted remains of an anonymous Strike Eagle were left where they fell, at the entrance to the Hive, and as the Army moved in to clean-up the site, the soldiers opted to leave these pieces alone, in the memory of those who died in the diversionary attack, and those who paid equal price for seeing the Hive destroyed. He closed his eyes, and in his mind he could see the faces and recall the names of the 114th Orbital Drop Regiment's fallen heroes.

Alex Widrow. Micheal Olinsky. Andrea Jethry. Anna Irina Solvia. Helena Valcrux. Albert Franks. Jebediah Hummingway. Jason Isway. Thomas Jethro Walts. Amelia Hannah Walts. Micheal Straits. Helen Parker. Vita Sali. Patricia Cheng. Edward Saint-Germain. Samuel Frank Neyer. Rick Sven. Francis Lane. Kenneth Jones. Patrick O'Manney. James Timothy Kristiansen. Jessica Edwards. Miguel Jesus Martinez.

Maximillian Jeremy Grey.

He knew all of them. And he had personally seen more than half of them die.

Out of all Comets sent into the Maryland Hive, only 8 returned. A single understrength squadron, out of four.

And of those eight, three would need prolonged, painful rehabilitation. And three would never sit inside a TSF's cockpit, or hold flight sticks ever again.

Like Colonel Bishop.

The advanced systems of the Reinforced Suit, meant to preserve human life in most adverse conditions, and the immediate medical help after, had saved her life. But they could not save her body completely. Both of her legs had to be amputated below the knee.

That, in itself, was not horrible news. The sheer level of maimed survivors in the first clashes against the BETA had, as a matter of necessity, facilitated rapid development of highly advanced, highly responsive prosthetics. Without major medical barriers, it was relatively easy to receive them as a soldier, and return to active duty in some way.

But not Bishop.

Out of 108 pieces of titanium, steel, ceramics and various polymers, less than half were removed from Bishop's back – mostly those that were still large enough that they could have been grabbed by surgical tools. The rest – mostly slivers and shards - remained lodged in Bishop's body, mostly within her spine, too deep for surgical removal.

The sheer damage to her nerves and spine was nigh-incalculable. That she retained moderate control over her arms and control over her neck was, to put it quite plainly, a complete miracle, backed by a 48 hour non-stop operation, and emergency implantations of servos and conductors across the most damaged areas of her spine.

But she would still never walk again, much less climb into a TSF cockpit. Perhaps it might have been better if her legs had been lost altogether, instead of being attached uselessly to her body, as if mocking her.

No amount of prizes, medals or alcohol would ever make Yuuya forget that empty, haunted look in her eyes when the doctor told her the truth.

It was the first time, since his mother's death, that another woman had openly wept against his shoulder.

But Yuuya steeled his mind. _This is just one more tragedy that the BETA will have to answer for._

Yes. He couldn't give up. He couldn't go back. Not anymore. He had now the greatest duty, and burden, that were ever assigned to him.

_To Live._

His mind turned to Alice, who, in all honesty, barely did any better. The full removal of her _mildly_ melted Reinforced Suit took about 72-hour non-stop surgical operation. Even though Alice's weakened heart stopped several times during it, in the end, she pulled through. _No,_ he thought. _She willed herself through it._ The change that came over the young woman was staggering. Gone was the shyness for which she was once teased. Gone was that soft shine in her eyes. Yuuya remembered vividly how she saluted him; despite all that pain that the action would cause for her bare muscles, and the steel tone with which she spoke to him:

"_I will return to duty as soon as I'm able, sir. I will make sure that their deaths count...counted."_

Perhaps it would have been better if she had wept. Yuuya didn't know.

But it reminded him that he was now responsible for her, and all the other remaining Comets – what was left of them.

The silver bars of a United States Space Force Captain on his shoulders, and the Distinguished Service Cross on his left breast weighed down of him. He didn't deserve it. Any of it. Not like Max, who'd been posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. All he did was to stand back and chop lowly BETA to pieces while his friends died around him. That was nothing special, especially compared to Max, who'd been the last man out of the Reactor hall, who'd given his life to arm the bombs.

He could still hear it. Sven's voice as he begged him to finish him off. That last glace at the F-15E halfway down the barricade, enveloped in greedy stream of red.

He didn't deserve that. None of them, both the dead and the living, deserved what they'd gotten,.

But he had to move. Step-by-step. He had survived, and so he had to carry their dreams. As long as he remembered them and honored them, they would never be truly gone. That was the other survivors said. It was what the bloodied Colonel Heimroth said, as he smoked his cigarette atop his ruined Strike Eagle.

It was what Bishop begged him to do yesterday, holding onto his hands as if they'd disappear in an instant, as he held her in his arms,.

But most of all...

Most of all, he wanted to give others a chance.

With his position, his experience, he would give guidance to those that would come to follow him and his surviving comrades. He would make sure that the next time they'd face these inhuman monsters, the payback would be even. And that one day, when his turn would inevitably come, he would be able to stand proud in front of his best friend, and tell him that he did as he asked.

The soft footsteps broke him from his reverie. The dark-haired man stopped next to him, kneeling to lay down a bouquet of white lillies. Over the last few days, after President Anderson's impassioned speech at this memorial, where he had honored those who had served in Operation Crucible, civilians and soldiers alike would come to visit to lay down gifts and flowers to the heroes who perished in their defense.

"I didn't know how you do it." The man begun to speak to Yuuya. "And I still don't know." Leon Kuze looked ahead, overlooking the makeshift monument. "When you showed up again, I thought you were still the same asshole, only with even more ego. That there was still nothing important to you." He sighed. "But I was wrong, and it was wrong of me to dismiss everything what you said out of hand, just because of our history. And looking back now..." Leon breathed out, before continuing. "I don't know if I could have changed as much as you did...change enough to do what _you_ had to do. What your comrades did."

Yuuya merely nodded, not looking at him.

"Shit," Leon quietly cursed. "Look, we both aren't good with this goody stuff. I just...I wanted to tell you that I...I respect you. A little bit." He huffed. "And that by the next time we meet, we will be able to do so as comrades at arms."

Perhaps it was the shock of baptism of blood. Perhaps this was some sort of a resolution that simply need something to kick it off. Or perhaps it was always there, just Yuuya didn't notice it before. Fate worked in mysterious ways. This was one way to bury this hatchet, if only by a little bit.

"...Thanks." Yuuya finally spoke, after a brief deliberation. "I'll keep that in mind." He smiled softly, as he turned and begun to walk back. Leon just smirked.

"Good luck!" He suddenly shouted. "Sir."

Yuuya's face broke into a grin. It was too bitter and sad to be smile...but too determined and upbeat to be a frown. It was simply, a grin.

He pulled out a cigar out of his breast pocket, and lit it up with an old Zippo lighter that was given to him, a part of the possessions that Max entrusted to him in his will.

He now walked back in unflinching walk, the prowling military men and woman stepping back from his as some invisible force flowed out of this man.

Yuuya Bridges took a puff out of his cigar. It was the time to seriously pick up the slack. After all, he had troops to train and a war to win.

* * *

_Same time, unknown place._

It was dark.

Well, for what it was worth, the room didn't really "exist" for them. It was simply a black, holographic nothingness, in which they could meet in complete anonymity from the outside world.

Three points lit up, showing people comfortably sitting at what were desks of light. The soft, but seemingly lifeless glow illuminated their features: One was a Caucasian, red-headed man of young age, another was an Arabic-looking young woman with luscious black hair and azure eyes, while the last was an old man with swept-back gray hair.

Unlike them, the agent stood on his own feet, wrapped in complete darkness. His above-average length silver hair floated freely in the shadows.

"It has been some time... Harbinger," The elder man finally began, his accent being of unmistakable British quality that bore more than a passing resemblance to Peter Cushing. "It would appear that Operation Cerberus was a success."

"Yes."The younger man impatiently cut in. "A _risky_ success." The woman scoffed, flicking her hair.

"_You_ are the one that insists on aggressive approached, and _now_ you're complaining?"

"_I,"_ the red-haired man pointed to himself, "Didn't blow up Washington!"

"You would have, given the chance."

"Enough!" The older man raised his voice, just above youngsters, and shot them a cold glare that immediately shut them up. "Regardless of whatever disagreements you two may have, the plan was a resounding success. And in addition, Agent Harbinger's...amendments... to the plan have given us a surprising windfall in the form of the posts that were assigned to our agents in the temporary US government, furthering our influence on that nation. The information we have acquired on the ATSF Project and the USSF strategies has also been...enlightening."

The man in shadows suppressed his grin, and instead nodded politely, acknowledging the older British. "_You have no idea whose those agents really are, do you? No, you probably suspect something, but as long as they do their jobs, you have no excuse to remove me._

"I am however concerned about the... Core information that was recovered by the American Authorities." The elder man now carefully eyed his supposed agent.

"It couldn't have been helped," the agent finally spoke, as he slouched even more, raising his hands a little defensively. "There was always the chance that Reactor Assault Team would survive and report back on what they'd found, and even if we could have censored that information in any way, then either Harper or someone left in military chain of command would have realized our continued involvement." The man paused a bit, as he let his hands fall to his sides. "Besides, in my opinion, the sooner the US knows the real stakes, the sooner they will become useful. There are other ways we can manipulate people, besides withholding information."

"I agree," The younger red-headed man suddenly said. While his voice was neutral, his eyes were still glinting as if annoyed. "At very least, we can use it manipulate some of the fringe groups. Perhaps, we can even make leak a little bit outside, if only to spur the panic within the UN..."

"What about the operational security?" The Arab woman swiftly interjected, changing the topic. "Is there any chance of blowback?"

The agent shrugged. "There's always a chance, but right now the risk is low. Most of those who we managed to involve on a deeper level were killed when we destroyed Washington, including the President's staff and most of the CIA 's senior officials, though their middle and lower-level staff and their Langley headquarters remain mostly intact. Harper suspects something, naturally, but he won't be able to expose us without incriminating himself in the process, and getting the entire CIA dismantled for treason."

The woman nodded before continuing. "And the military?"

"Anderson might be blind for all we care. Most of the military brass is dead anyway...Well, I suspect that O'Neill might suspect this and that, but our closure of Operation Cerberus should give him enough plausible answers to get him off our scent. And now that Operation Crucible is finished, O'Neil is now _de facto_ Acting Army Chief of Staff. He'll have his hands full reorganizing the Army; he'll be too busy to be a problem. The rest of the surviving brass are convinced that this was Harper's doing, and most of _them_ will be purged when Cerberus is terminated. I foresee many promotions for promising young officers." The man grinned sadistically, as woman leaned back on her chair. The older man however, seemed unsatisfied.

"What about Colonel Bishop? You mentioned that she was actively trying to track you."

The man laughed softly. "Bishop is a wreck. She'll be busy enough trying to just recover and put her mind back together...that, and most of her suspects are dead anyway...some of which _were_ legitimate agents, if only for the CIA-backed task-force that was Cerberus. And even if she insists..." The man shrugged his shoulders as if in indifference. "Depressed people tend to do a lot of stupid stuff. Bishop's a closet alcoholic. Do the math."

The elder man finally nodded, satisfied with the answers, before speaking up again.

"Thorough planning, as always, Harbinger. But that's not why we called you in person." The other two nodded, as the atmosphere in the room begun to rapidly shift.

"The Soviets are beginning to make noise. Total Eclipse is still ongoing." The woman spoke next, and the agent's face momentarily froze, before recovering.

"...and I was not told of this because...?"

"Because it would have put your ability to manage Cerberus into question," The elder mastermind spoke frankly. "We all know how much you had...invested...into dismantling that twisted remnant of Alternative III."

"Where?" The man shot his demand, his voice unnaturally cold.

"It seems that they're cowering in Yukon. It took us some time to find this through Soviet channels, but once we knew where, it was easy enough to verify. Those two girls are...hard to mistake," The red-haired man spoke again. This time, his voice was somewhat arrogant, recovering his confidence from earlier blunders.

"I'm sure that you're aware that Soviet completion of the Total Eclipse plan will be disastrous for us. You have to shut it down, immediately." The elder finally conspirator instructed.

"You will be in charge of its recovery operation," The younger man swiftly continued. "We'd prefer if you could recover them and the project data unharmed, but...if there's no other way..."

"Then eliminate it," The woman finished it for him.

The agents deliberated that only for seconds, before nodding, in his own manner of acknowledgment. "When do I go?"

"As soon as you can." The older man once again regained control of the conversation, his voice level. "We will authorize you to use all available measures, including the use of _that_ unit..."

"As long as you don't fail us." The younger pointedly eyed him.

"I understand. I shall fulfill my mission with all available strength." The agent straightened his back in acknowledgement, as his superiors nodded in agreement.

"Then this will be all." The eldest one concluded. "This meeting is adjourned."

Their images flickered away, one by one, until only the young woman remained. She eyed the shadow wrapped spy, before breaking into a polite bow.

"I apologize for their behavior, your Excellency. The Master is becoming more and more difficult to control...I fear he may have an ulterior motive. He was the one that recommended you for this job to the Sovereign after all."

The agent, titled "Harbinger" simply shrugged as he "walked" closer to the image of his double-agent. "That was to be expected, although he is nowhere near a serious threat as Sovereign himself. Still...giving me all those resources...he _is_ aware that the Phantasms are eating out of my hand, right?"

The lady chuckled. "You sell yourself short, your Excellency. You're doing much better than you'd think."

The man chuckled as the room begun to light up. "I wonder. Who do you think will stand at the end of this? These men from the First Alternative, that crazed Professor from the East, the useless nations of Earth, or perhaps..."

The man's silver hair gleamed in the suddenly generated light.

"..._Myself!"_

And the eldest Barchenow gave out a hearty grin as his subordinate gave him her answer.

_**Author's Note:**_

Move aside Kouki, a challenger has appeared!

Hahahaha, I wish that was true though.

Well. What can I say? I was planning to get this out sooner, but life got in the way. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't worry though, I manhandled it, and put it back in the place. Hopefully.

Also, you seriously didn't think that I wouldn't put a Harbinger reference when I started making all those Mass Effect shoutouts, did you?

Meanwhile, Yuuya has reached Big Boss level of charisma! And probably just as many medals. I don't know what he'd actually _get _(Wild Goose is, again, the man behind all the proper applications of military protocol), but he did save United States of A and became world-wide hero overnight. Plus, you know you want to have a Total Eclipse opening to the theme of Snake Eater.

And now, we're out of the woodwork, and onto the _real_ part of the story! The actual Yukon!

Yui~Hime!, Cryska! Inia! Cryska's malevolent elder brother!

Wait, one of those is not like the others!

Also, everyone is welcomed to try to hang out at AnimeSuki's forums' Muv-Luv Alternative: Total Eclipse section, and Fanfic thread specifically, where I'm known to dwell. Also, as we now have a local Muv-Luv forum, a Comet thread is up and running! We're also live on

See you soon Surface Pilots~

**BETA's notes**: Yeah, despair indeed. You're lucky I'm working on Muv-Luv:DYRL as well, or I'd go find a gun to eat, AMT. :p This was the longest I've ever taken to BETA a fic, due to IRL issues, getting sick twice, and the middle being such a slog. It also didn't help that AMT and sasahara17 were busy chopping off parts of my body as sacrifices to Khorne and Tzenteech.


	10. Chapter 7: A Brave New World

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Muv-Luv franchise in any way. If I did, TE Visual Novel would have never happened. I also do not own _Top Gear _and it's associated trademarks.

**Addendum: **The two final faux-news pieces written in the preface were done by WildGoose, a.k.a Whiskey Golf, and accordingly belong to him.

* * *

_SPACE FORCE CONFIRMS INTENTIONS TO AQUIRE 3RD GENERATION TSFs; REFUSES TO DIVULGE DETAILS_

Langley AFB, Virginia:_"During the press conference earlier this week, the spokesman for the United States Space Force, Major Vincent Whitcomb, confirmed the rumours that the USSF's Orbital Divers force is actively looking for a 3rd Generation TSF to supplement its current arsenal. _

"I can confirm that we are, at the present, searching for a 3rd Generation Tactical Surface Fighter, which would fit within established USSF operational criteria," _Major Whitcomb said._ "The Battle of Maryland has clearly demonstrated the need for better hardware, that can better match the potential of our pilots, as well as our ever-increasing role as the vanguards of joint US Armed Forces TSF units."_ However, the Major refused to elaborate on any specific candidates, citing that the acquisition program was still in its formative stages._

"We have seen a number of successful designs emerging during last several years; obviously we have to carefully investigate each and every one of them, in order to make the best choice possible (...) As our program has only started however, I regret to say that we do not have, yet, any concrete information or candidates, for public announcement." _The Major subsequently declined to answer any further questions on the subject._

_The tight-lipped silence of USSF's higher echelons has sparked a furious debate within the TSF engineering communities, as specialists, engineers and test pilots alike race each other to make the most accurate prediction. Amongst the most frequent candidates are, of course, the YF-23 and the F-22A Raptor, with some also cautiously mentioning the Joint Strike TSF Program's F-35. Others have also speculated that the refusal of Space Force to talk might indicate that its command is –quite seriously- considering the purchase of foreign TSFs, which would be the first in American history. Supporters of this theory have marked the Swedish JAS-39 Gripen and French Dass-ult Rafale as the primary candidates (...). _

- _Written by Captain Stephanie Sasahara, Top Gear Australia._

Capt. Sasahara is an officer in No. 32nd Squadron, Royal Australian Armoured Force. She possesses an Engineering and Maintenance background, saw 3 years of combat service, and is Top Gear Australia's premier TSF correspondent.

* * *

"_A KINGDOM FOR A (NO) WIDOW"_

_By Colonel Alastoria Toth_

_The news has been horrible for the last week. The American President is still making those corny speeches. The French are still arguing over the prioritization of Defence Lines for this year; and the moron who runs our base's logistics has misfiled our requisition orders, which means that we have to live off from Haggis for the next week. _

_And people _still_ won't shut up about the Black Widow. _

_Ever since Northrock's prized, but troubled, baby was taken out for a joyride in the Maryland Hive, people have been frantically speculating that the USSF might go over the heads of ATSF committee and purchase the YF-23 as its default 3rd Generation TSF. _

_It's a wonderful thought. But it's also incredibly stupid, and confirms my lingering theories about why most UN surfies never make it past 2nd Lieutenant. _

_You see, combat alone doesn't make a TSF. Don't get me wrong, the Black Widow is a wonderful TSF. It flies. It shoots. It disappears from radar. It has a good paint scheme. The only thing it lacks, really, are sexy canards. But it's also bloody expensive – about half as much as the F-22A in the unit cost. And that's without including the (much higher by the way) maintenance bill. Outfitting everyone in the USSF with them, is simply impossible. Economics _do_ matter, especially when you consider that the Orbital Divers have to replace their machines _quitefrequently_. Another point is the actual maintenance problems – the people seem to forget that the YF-23s had a pretty horrible track record when it comes to repairs, and overall service time. During ATSF, the YF-22 flew more sorties, spent more time in the air, and had a faster turnaround time than the YF-23. It doesn't matter how good your TSF is, if it's sitting in the hangar most of the time. I mean, what are you going to do? Throw those wrenches at BETA?_

_Then, there're the fuel problems. The YF-23, for all its bells and whistles, has barely any more range than the F-16. That's doesn't seem so bad – plenty of nations use the F-16, right? That's until you realize that as an Orbital Diver, you have to go to ground, fight through some of the most terrifying filth on Earth, and then go back home. Finishing your dive in a Hardyman is not funny, as any Diver can tell you –and that's precisely what's going to happen if the USSF picks the bloody Widow. _

_You see, logistics are there for a reason. It doesn't matter how awesome of a pilot you are, if you can't get to the fight. It doesn't matter how awesome your TSF is, if it can't get you home back from the fight. (...)_

_Because if you don't take that into account, Murphy will have a field day. You may not care about f- Murphy, but Murphy cares about f- you. And you'll be left in your multibillion-dollar TSF, with your shining melee halberd and AMBFG-2012 and 3D cockpit, and absolutely no fuel remaining, while a pack of Tanks jump you, like rabid dogs in heat; all while that smug bastard in the Army – the one who had enough sense to buy the Raptor, mind – will be far away from you, drinking rounds in your honour. "_

_Or you'll be stuck with eating Haggis for a week. Can't decide what's worse._

- _Written by Alastoria M. Toth_

Colonel Alastoria M. Toth is the RAF's top Ace, and the commanding officer of No. 66 Tactical Armoured Wing RAF. A former Orbital Diver, Col. Toth has been a voluntary commentator for _Top Gear, MechaWorld and Newsweek_'sWar section.

* * *

**A New Tactical Surface Fighter for America's Latest Heroes?**

**By 1st Lieutenant John Davis, UN Army**

In the months after the United States Space Force's destruction of the Maryland Hive, rumors are now being floated as to the newest TSF the USSF will purchase. While performing admirably during the Hive Infiltration, it is clear that the F-15E Strike Eagle is in need of replacement, which makes the recent announcement of a new TSF acquisition program no surprise.

The most obvious contenders are, of course, the F-22A Raptor and the YF-23 Black Widow II. The Raptor, which has just completed the Engineering & Maintenance Development Phase, and is currently in Low-Rate Initial Production, is slowly equipping TSF battalions in the United States Army, with the first recipients being the 66th Tactical Armor Battalion "Hunter", based out of Langley, Virginia. At the same time, the two refurbished YF-23 prototypes performed wonderfully in the Hive, by all accounts, which makes a strong case for the Widow. Or does it?

While there are those who believe that Operation Crucible gave the YF-23 a new lease on life, in reality it was quite the opposite. The YF-23s had range issues, and needed more tanking compared to the Strike Eagles or Raptors. That also doesn't account for the fact that the YF-23's design has been static since 1991, while the Raptor EMD and production models feature numerous improvements to performance and specs over the YF-22. If the YF-23 were to be reintroduced by the USSF, it would require a significant development period, one that would be exceedingly costly, and hardly practical for a single service, particularly when the Space Force needs new hardware _now_, not ten years down the road.

Furthermore, the USSF is not just responsible for TSFs, as it also maintains the SHADOW network, GPS network, and spacefleets. It's a similar situation to the US Navy in the early 90s; the USN was invited to participate in the ATSF project, with the idea that the winning design could be navalised to serve on USN carriers. Ultimately the USN chose to forgo the NATSF proposal when it was clear that substantial redesign work would need to be performed, and that if the USN chose to invest in a next-generation TSF, it would not have the funds for new carrier construction, and would be constrained in the total numbers of TSFs it would operate. The USN eventually went with development of the F-18E/F Super Hornet, and prioritized its funding for new carriers and maintaining its air wing strength. It is not unreasonable that the USSF will also take the same path. As the author's experiences on the South Thailand front have shown, the war against BETA requires both quality and quantity – there is no point having advanced TSFs if they are not present in sufficient numbers to make a worthwhile contribution.

The other option, then, is to attempt to pursue foreign options; strong contenders would be the Eurofightas Typhoon, the mainstay TSF of EU forces, or the Dass-ault Rafale, the favored TSF of the French Army. Another option would be the JAS-39 Gripen, which was also a strong contender in COSEAN's new TSF program, before the F-18E Super Hornet was ultimately chosen. However, foreign suppliers raise several issues; the USSF would not take well to being at the mercy of foreign powers with regard to technology transfers and support of its equipment, and this is before the usual noise that American companies would make on a branch of the US military buying _foreign_ instead of local. Were the USSF to choose a foreign TSF, production lines would need to be established in America so as to ensure a steady supply of spares and replacement machines, as relying on foreign supply is not guaranteed. This is a significant undertaking, one that might not be considered worthwhile for a TSF that will not see mass deployment amongst American combat forces.

When all is said and done, the most likely candidate for a replacement TSF will be a toss up between either the F-22A Raptor, or the proposed F-15SE Silent Eagle concept that Boening has mooted, with perhaps the F-18E Super Hornet as a third choice.

**1st Lieutenant John Davis** is the commanding officer of Garuda Test Flight, under Project PROMINENCE, UN 3rd Army , and was previously cadre for the formation of No. 18 Squadron RMAF, with over 4000 flight hours in the F-5E Tiger II and F-18C Hornet.

* * *

**The Long War Journal: Opinions & Editorials**

**Choosing the Space Force's newest Tactical Surface Fighter**

**By Lieutenant Colonel Kenneth Jackson, USSF**

It's been a year and change since America's big wakeup call, since Operation Crucible and the DC & Maryland Hive landings. The successful destruction of the Maryland Hive – an operation undertaken by understrength battalions from the USSF's 108th and 114th Orbital Regiments, as well as USMC Force Recon's VMJ-67 and VMJ-125 – showed that the USSF can accomplish its missions, and the service's star is on the rise, both with the public and Congress, so much so that the USSF has received funding and authorization to pursue a TSF replacement and upgrade program – our service's answer to the Advanced Tactical Surface Fighter Project.

Choosing a new TSF is a subject that shouldn't be undertaken carelessly. While the Space Force has a generous check from Congress, it isn't a blank check, and to paraphrase a movie about Naval Aviators from the 80s, we shouldn't write checks our body can't cash.

A new TSF needs to fulfil certain criteria. As an absolute baseline, it has to perform better than the F-15E Strike Eagle, which is the USSF's mainstay TSF. After the F-14D Tomcat, the Strike Eagle is the next oldest 2.5 Gen TSF design, and while it's performed acceptably, as the Maryland Hive showed, that just doesn't cut it anymore. We need a TSF that can go beyond what the Strike Eagle can do. Our options are the F-22A (of course), the Dass-ault Rafale, Eurofightas Typhoon, and the JAS-39 Gripen, all of which are high performance aircraft superior to the Strike Eagle.

At the same time, we also need a TSF that we can keep our readiness rates up. The Strike Eagle was an excellent TSF in this regard; easy to fly, easy to maintain, and tolerant towards hard flying and abuse. This lies in stark contrast to the Raptor, which is a hangar queen compared to the Strike Eagle, as the Raptor OPEVAL team noted in 1999, when the Raptor was being evaluated for its suitability as a USSF machine. The Black Widow is an even worse hangar queen, however. The ATSF Program's figures bear this out: while on paper the YF-23 appeared the superior machine in terms of combat performance, this was achieved at the expense of higher maintenance costs and longer downtime compared to the YF-22. Furthermore, the YF-23 has similar combat range to an F-16, inferior to that of the F-15E, which is not a good place to be when you're miles away from home, crawling out of a drop pod and staring at a horde of BETA. These factors make the YF-23 unattractive for Space Force needs.

(I will allow, however, that the two prototypes, PAV-1 and PAV-2, performed admirably in the Maryland Hive battle, but PAV-1 was a total loss and while PAV-2 _could_ be repaired, it doesn't look likely, given that there's no production line for spare parts.)

In that respect, the JAS-39 Gripen is an attractive possibility. The Kingdom of Sweden built it as a light TSF with good combat endurance, high performance, decent cost and easy maintenance – all factors that are highly attractive for USSF uses, certainly more than the Typhoon or Rafale or Raptor. Being a TSF that is already in-service, it is also significantly more promising than the F-35, which has won the Joint Strike Tactical Surface Fighter program, but is facing challenges in developing a common TSF for the Army, Navy and Marine Corps.

Costs are also something we need to consider seriously. It's not the usual established American way to talk honestly about casualties, but the reality is that for all of us who're Orbital Divers, we're living on borrowed time. The 114th sent thirty two TSFs into the Maryland hive; only **_eight_** survived, and out of those eight only five pilots are still serving. We can't afford to spend money on expensive TSFs if we can't make good our losses; America is rich, but not _that_ rich, and the check Congress gave us isn't a blank check.

At the end of the day, the USSF has several options for a new TSF. The best compromise of performance, endurance, reliability and cost is the JAS-39. The second option is to keep the Strike Eagle in service and attempt incremental upgrade programs. And the third option is to consider an out of the box solution: the F-14Ex Super Tomcat fielded by Iran, which offers good performance and endurance at a reliable cost.

Lieutenant Colonel Kenneth Jackson is a veteran USSF pilot with almost 30 years in uniform. As an Army F-15A pilot, he served in Germany during the early 80s, and is presently a Battalion Commander in the 108th Orbital Regiment.

**_Comments:_**

_LCDR David Jackson, USN posted: _

"Great analysis and a reasoned look at things (finally, someone who isn't singing the YF-23's praises! There's a reason the Navy dropped it). That said, I respectfully disagree on your 2nd choice TSF; the Super Hornet is a great and proven platform, and USMC and USN use proves it to be superior to Strike Eagle in CQB. As for the Super Tomcat… no newbuild Tomcats exist – the youngest D-model Cats are at least 15 years old, and I know some pilots flying 35 year old As. Maintenance on Tomcats is a pain in the ass. That said, as a former Tomcat driver, I loved it, but the Super Hornet just blows it outta the water. So yeah, ditch the Strike Eagle and grab the Super Hornet."

_LTC Kenneth Jackson, USSF posted:_

"Unfortunately, choosing the Super Hornet is not an option for the USSF. Thank you for your comment!"

_LCDR David Jackson, USN posted: _

"Oh, that's a GREAT idea, pop. Sure, ignore the dude on the front lines - when was the last time you went on a combat op? Also, the article was kinda weak in some parts – you really shoulda gotten a proofreader."

_LTC Kenneth Jackson, USSF posted: _

"Last week. Show your old man some respect. And I didn't see YOU offering to proof for me, so I'll be laying that fault at your door. "

_LCDR David Jackson, USN posted: _

"It's a hatch, not a door, and you need to get with the times, pop. Super Hornets 4 life!"

_LTC Kenneth Jackson, USSF posted: _

"Waga musuko, you still live in my house when you aren't deployed. Your heya is still the same in all it's embarrassing glory. I'll call it whatever I want it. And no, the Superbug isn't what we want or need, so you squids can keep it and weep as we use those wonderful, wonderful Super Tomcats. Oretachi no katsu tame ni!"

_LCDR David Jackson, USN posted:_

"We're Americans, not Japs, quit trying to impress Grandma."

_LTC Kenneth Jackson, USSF posted:_

"Ore wa Amerikajin to Nihonjin. :D"

_LCDR David Jackson, USN posted:_

"Oh FFS, knock it off, kuso oyaji."

_(Moderator) LTC Noah Bright, USA posted:_

"Okay, knock it off, both of you. Sort your issues out somewhere else, not this blog."

* * *

_29/04/2001_

_Langley, Virginia_

Captain Yuuya Steven Bridges, former squadron commander of 114th Orbital Regiment, recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross and Silver Star, hero of the Battle of Maryland, and current Chief Instructor of the Special Tactics Anti-BETA Initiative, calmly raised an eyebrow as he studied his orders. Putting the printed orders down on his superior's desk, he matched gazes with the older man as he gave his decision.

"With all due respect General, this is three servings of absolutely retarded _bullshit_."

Major General Sears was an aging, but still physically intimidating man, with light brown hair progressively bleached by age, a long scar on his left cheek and a neatly trimmed beard. At odds with his appearance, he simply laughed at his subordinate's bluntness, as he lit up a cigar. Sears had worked only for 5 months with Bridges (precisely since the start of the STAB Initiative), but so far he liked the younger man. He was dependable, knew his stuff and above all, he didn't hesitate to speak his mind when he thought that someone was making a colossally retarded mistake. He also shared Sears' enthusiasm for "practical exercises", an euphemistic way of saying "beating the everloving shit outta those punks convinced that they know more about combat than you."

"It's still the latest Hexagon plan, son. Do remember that."

"And it's still without any sense, sir."

Sears sighed as he puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I don't completely disagree with you, but they aren't _that_ unreasonable. And besides, the Project Prominence is not the end of the world, unlike what those ignorant morons from the old Pentagon thought."

Yuuya resisted his urge to impatiently tap his foot. "I don't disagree with the basic idea sir." He glanced a little sideways, through the window. "I'm questioning the need to send _me,_ specifically."

"Ah." Sears nodded. _So the cat's out of the bag._ "Do elaborate, son."

"With respect to the assessment by the Hexagon's _planners_-" Yuuya stressed the word "- I'm neither a test pilot, nor a diplomat. I'm a USSF surface pilot, and what I do best is to kill BETA or train people to do that." Images of Bishop and Max appeared in his mind's eye, unprompted; a blink of the eyes and a small twitch was the only visible evidence he'd suppressed the flow of memories. "I'm needed _here_ sir!"he said, tapping the General's desk for emphasis. "STAB is making progress, but we can do so much more!"

Sears eyes narrowed. "So, you're implying that your team can't work without you, Bridges?"

Yuuya shook his head. "That's not what I'm implying sir; my team can work well enough with or without me." He paused, before speaking up again, interrupting his commander before he even started. "Respectfully, Sir, what I mean is this: there are better qualified people for this job than me, and that I will be more useful to the country here, if not on the battlefield, than in some test lab. Helping the Japs develop their shiny new toy is _not_ in my job description."

"Your job description says whatever we want to, Bridges." Sears smiled only a little more smugly; he wouldn't display so easily his satisfaction with how the younger man was conducting himself. After Maryland, Bridges had really cleaned up his act; he was no longer a cocky insubordinate punk, but now someone closer to what a real military officer should be. "Besides, the Japanese insisted that we provide a quote, "certified combat pilot," unquote. And to say that you're _certified_ would be an understatement."

Yuuya held his breath and counted to five, subconsciously afraid that he would sigh in frustration like a desperate teenager. "Send Kuze then. He has combat experience _and_ he's got an actual test pilot career."

"Kuze doesn't have the Distinguished Service Cross. He also wasn't _directly_ _requested for _by a foreign power."

"And since when does a foreign power tell the US what to do with its armed forces?"

Sears smiled slightly this time, before leaning back in his chair. "Since the President wants to play nice with everyone. Bridges, the Japanese asked for you, _specifically_, and made that request at a very high level. And the President, and the Joint Chiefs for that matter, see no reason why we shouldn't play ball, and earn some more goodwill along the way." Sears didn't need to openly mention that Yuuya's heritage, and not just his accomplishments, had played a part in the selection process. That much was left unsaid, but was clearly understandable for anyone able to connect the dots, not just Yuuya or Sears.

Sears took another puff of his cigar, before shrugging. "As I said before, I don't completely disagree. You could do a lot of good here, and I'll be honest, I want to keep you on my staff, if not send you to field with the first batch of STAB graduates. But America needs international allies if we're to keep operating beyond our own borders, and we need initiatives like this XFJ Plan to build some goodwill that our diplomats can work with," Sears continued. "And in our new political reality, being posted to Prominence at this stage will be just as important as STAB. It'll be the first major joint development plan that our government agreed to in quite a long time. We need our top performers on this – scientists, designers, PR specialists even…and pilots. True, you aren't a "proper" test pilot, but at the end of the day nobody will likely care. What they do care is that you're a veteran US serviceman with the 2nd highest award for valor. You following me, son?"

Yuuya sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. If even Sears couldn't reverse the decision, there was no point in fighting it. Still, he only had to follow his orders; he didn't have to like them. "I am, sir. And I'll do my part. But, God-dammit, someone had better owe me for this."

Sears laughed out loud, tapping his cigar against the ashtray. "That they will son, that they will. Besides, if everything works out well, XFJ won't take more than several months, depending on the schedule Japan's planning on. So it'll be a quick flight in, you'll write some reviews, blow shit up and go home basking in international fame. And the best part is you get to pull two salaries; you'll be a 2nd Lieutenant in the UN Army, but your Space Forces commission will remain active and you'll still pull your Captain's pay. If you can live solely off your UN pay, you're going to see a nice fat bank balance when you come back home."

Yuuya chuckled. "I'll believe it when I see it. So? When do I leave, sir?"

Sears straightened up. "You're leaving in three days, Captain. Go and pack your things. And don't forget some winter gear for Alaska."

"Will do sir, will do…"

* * *

_02/05/2001_

_Alaska, Yukon Demilitarized Zone, U.N. Yukon Base_

The wind was almost unnaturally cold compared to what she was used to.

Takamura Yui, First Lieutenant of the Imperial Royal Guard, member of Inter-Service R&D Division "White Fang" Test Squadron, suppressed a shudder as she walked down the ladder from her plane to the ground. Although she tried to mentally prepare herself for the different climate, the actual nature of the location still managed to surprise her. It was much colder than either in Kyoto or Hokkaido. The blasted UN uniform was also much less close-fitting than her Imperial Guard robe, which she desperately wished to be wearing right now.

The young officer on the ground pleasantly smiled at her. Yui had to admit, she was impressed by woman's hardiness, especially considering that she wasn't wearing the typical stockings worn with this type of uniform.

"Welcome to Yukon, Lieutenant Takamura." The woman's English was impeccable, but her accent was just strong enough to suggest that she wasn't a truly native English speaker.

"Thank you, Second Lieutenant…Holweig." Yui replied as she rapidly read out the name from the obligatory nametag. _Definitely German or Nordic then, _she thought. By contrast, the driver in the waiting jeep was clearly East-Asian. He glanced towards Yui in passing interest, before returning to whatever was that he was meant to do.

"If you will, Colonel Hartwig is already waiting for you. Please follow me."

Yui nodded in response, and followed woman towards the jeep. While in the air, Yukon Base looked impressive and massive; on the ground, that impression intensified. She wondered just how long the drive would take.

As the jeep took off, Yui's attention was drawn by a loud, shrieking noise. Raising her head, she turned around from her head, trailing after a TSF that passed just above them.

"That's…F-15E? No, wait…" She squinted her eyes. The descending craft was clearly similar to the Eagle, but at the same time, had many distinct differences from it. Its upper Mount Pylons were replaced with thrusters; its head was an elongated hammerhead, and the shoulder block clearly mounted what looked like some sort of side-thrusters. Yui could also make out what seemed like sensor pods extending from its forearms. She recalled seeing similar shapes in one of the White Fang's international newsletters (Yui felt it was a costly and frivolous way to waste paper, but it was still occasionally useful)…just what was the name assigned to it?

"F-15…Active?"

"Good eyes, Lieutenant," Holweig replied from her seat. "That's the F-15ACTV, aka "Active Eagle". It's one of the Yukon's latest designs. An attempt to bring the F-15E design into 3rd Generation territory. It's quite successful, from what I know."

Yui nodded, visibly impressed. The machine was fluid, fast and seemed strong, and the landing was textbook perfect. It confidently strode across the landing strip, approaching an opened hangar that held other F-15's.

_Perhaps, there is hope after all…_

"Prominence is a host to many different Projects, representing many nations." Holewig continued, uninvited. "We support both national and UN development projects. It is our earnest wish to provide a fighting chance to everyone on Earth."

"Then I am in good hands, aren't I?" Yui rhetorically stated.

* * *

The ride took much less time than she assumed. Apparently the base commander liked to keep an eye on the testing ranges and the hangars, so his offices were located appropriately close, as were the quarters of most of officers assigned to test duties. Yui found it convenient – at least she wouldn't waste much time commuting to her workplace. Almost like when she was with White Fang.

Perhaps the UN was not such a bad place.

Colonel Klaus Hartwig, Project Manager of the UN's Project Prominence, was a physically average man, who looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s. He had the bearing of a professional, long-time soldier. Yui's salute was appropriately crisp and neat, as was his own.

"First Lieutenant Takamura Yui, reporting for duty!"

Hartwig nodded as he turned fully to face her. "Welcome to Yukon, Lieutenant." Like his adjutant, his English was impeccable, but the hints of German accent were still traceable. He seated himself, and gestured for her to do the same.

_Hartwig, was it? Definitely German. Which would mean that Colonel's homeland was…_

She didn't finish that line of thought. It would be far too easy to be distracted by Germany's fate, especially with Imperial Japan was standing on the edge of a cliff. Far too easy to drown in fear that her home would share Germany's fate.

She sat down after the Colonel, waiting as he produced a manila folder from his desk.

"Allow me to first say that for many in Project Prominence, Japanese efforts on the Far-Eastern Defense Line have been greatly inspiring, and the courage and technical affinity displayed by Imperial forces has been exemplary thus far. Truly, you have our admiration." Hartwig paused for a moment. "Thus, it would be an honor for us to help Japan in her time of need. Rest assured that Project Prominence and I support your efforts fully, and we will do our outmost to support you."

Yui bowed slightly at the praise. "Sir. I cannot properly express my gratitude. Instead, please allow me to work to my fullest to fulfil to your expectations."

Hartwig nodded in appreciation, with a small, grandfatherly smile on his face. "Well, with that out of the way, let's get started, shall we?" He opened the manila folder, drawing out a number of smaller files. "From what I know, the American DARPA team has already arrived and is ready to work. So has your own engineering team, along with their prototype. We've put them to work on it immediately, if you don't mind." Yui shook her head. The Imperial Tactical Studies Commission would not give them much time; so the sooner they could assemble their prototype and put it to test, the better.

Hartwig continued. "Yes. As for the promised test pilots…" He trailed off, as he picked up a slightly thicker folder, before flipping it open. "You're being assigned the Argos Test Flight. They are among our very best. They have worked on several projects before, including Boening's Phoenix Initiative. The F-15ACTV is their work."

"It is?" Yui asked in surprise. To be quite honest, she was expecting a rather frosty reception from the UN, given the supposed level of tension between Imperial Japan and the UN. However, to be given a top-ranked test flight right off the bat…

It was certainly tempting, and a showcase of international cooperation. She didn't doubt that the U.N was trying to buy into the good graces of at least some Japanese commanders by arranging for this kind of reception. But it also meant that there was absolutely no room for error for Yui. Japan had to ensure that it would put in a comparable amount of effort – and this effort could not fail. With these resources, it was unthinkable. Not that Yui _planned_ to fail anyway – but still, it was a huge responsibility, especially for a girl barely past seventeen years old.

There were, of course, other concerns. While to some Japanese the UN effort would appear sincere and a sign of respect, Yui knew from experience that a very large clique, especially prevalent within the Imperial Royal Guard, would see nothing but plots within plots from it. To them, the very idea of cooperating with foreign powers was already wrong; joint co-development was nearly sacrilegious. They would see it as a possible attempt to steal Japanese technologies, or influence their strategic autonomy – the ability to choose how Japan would defend itself.

While Yui would privately admit that this sort of thinking was going a _little_ overboard, she could see their concerns. Americans had, intentionally or not, dominated the security, R&D and politics of the majority of the Far Eastern nations. Countries like Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand or Republic of China had largely fallen under the spell of American industries; with majority of their combat capabilities being based, and restricted by, the capabilities of their American machines. Their ability to service them and maintain a solid logistical base had also been wholly dependent on American (or at very least, European) industries for support. These countries had become dependant on the U.S for their military needs, and thus their defensive opportunities were naturally limited to some degree. It was the same case with many former Warsaw Pact states, who were reliant on the Soviet Union.

In same vein, the conservatives were afraid that Japan would follow the fate of these countries. That the EML-99X project had succeeded only because of the timely assistance of the UN-backed Yokohama Research Department, made things only worse, especially since after months of hard work, the Japanese were still no closer to understanding just _how_ Yokohama had made the giant railgun work. They were completely at the mercy of Yokohama – a base that was, technically, controlled by a foreign government.

To them, the XFJ was a continuation of that dreadful trend. They would scrutinize everything about the project, every action and every word, and Yui was painfully aware that even with her position as the Takamura family head, she was powerless to stop it.

So she had to do everything in her power, so that when the inevitable inspection came, there would simply be nothing that can be complained about. The XFJ had to be _flawless_ in its execution.

...Yui mentally reprimanded herself. Now wasn't the time for this sort of thinking.

"Speaking of which," Hartwig continued his explanations, as he picked out another folder "The Americans have finally dispatched their promised test pilot along with technical back-up. Two days before schedule." Now, _that_ got Yui's attention.

"Is that true?" she asked, as neutrally as possible.

"Indeed. I have to say, their new President is either really good at the political game, or really means what he said...can't say which it is. All the same however, there shouldn't be anything to complain about. If there is one thing you can say about Yuuya Bridges, it is that he is _competent_."

Yui's eyes widened when she heard the name. She immediately picked up the dossier, and scanned the picture attached to the front page. Over the last several months, the international press had spread the man's image all over the world.

It was, without a doubt, the same man. Brown hair slightly longer than regulation-length, metal-like, golden eyes. A ruggedly-handsome, yet boyish face.

Her opinion of Americans might have been what it was_, _but if there was a single man across that entire nation that could help her carry out her goal, it would be him.

"Yuuya ...Bridges."

* * *

Tarisa Manandal, Second Lieutenant of the United Nations Army, Ghurkha soldier and a test pilot of the Argos Flight, pleasantly sighed as she soaked in the warm water from the showers. If there was any upside to be posted away from "action" and in the rear echelons, it was the regular hot meals and warm showers. After all, a healthy body hosted a healthy mind.

"Hi Tarisa," her companion called after her, as she slid into the adjoining shower stall.

"Hi, Stella," Tarisa mumbled, as she focused on intensively rubbing bubbly soap into her body. She really liked Stella Bremer. She was sort-of kind, gentle, attentive and a great pilot, and an even better drinking companion.

But the Swedish beauty also happened to be one meter ninety, with massive tits, lustrous blond hair and turquoise eyes, which left any man with a working libido drooling on the floor.

Now, Tarisa was confident in her exotic looks. She knew that she wasn't as ..._well-endowed_, by nature, but at least she was very fit, had a lithe and supple body, and a _great_ pair of legs. Stella might have reach, but Tarisa had _flexibility._

Oh, who was she kidding. Stella had that too.

Stella smiled lightly, as she spotted her companion trying to desperately trying to hide herself in the soapy foam. Having served with Tarisa for a year, she got a pretty good idea of younger girl's...insecurities. Politely turning away, she turned the shower towards her favourite temperature.

"Did you hear the latest scuttlebutt?" she asked conversationally. A good gossip time would always lift a girl's heart.

"Mmmm?" Her Himalayan friend mumbled from her own box.

"About our newest assignment, that is."

"Ah, those Nipponese you mean?" Tarisa scrubbed her neck. "Yeah."

"And did you knew that they picked a new test pilot?" Stella replied as she let the warm water soak into her hair. "Apparently, it's one of America's top aces."

"Pffft. What a load of bull. If they were planning on picking their own team, the hell do they need us for?"

Stella just smiled at that.

"Never took you for a lazy type, 'Risa," she teased.

Tarisa groaned. "It's not about being lazy. It's about treating us as a bunch of glorified tour guides." She sighed. "And picking an American? _Seriously_? The fuck are they thinking? What did Americans do anyway?"

"...they blew up a Hive? Three of them, in fact." Stella held back a smirk as Tarisa groaned again.

"The first two don't count. And the third? That what their _press_ said, Stella. For all we know, the BETA might have given up on killing off all those crackheads, and offed themselves." This time, Stella couldn't suppress her smirk.

"Well, you have a point there. But maybe we should ask our newest addition when he gets here. They say Yuuya Bridges was right there when that Hive blew up."

"Quite so." The new voice wasn't Tarisa's. It was male.

The two startled women turned to the side, where they saw a tall, dark and handsome man, whose only cover of decency was a thin cloud of steam. His hardened chest was proudly puffed out, while his long, curly dark hair was loosely tied behind him.

Valerio Giacosa smirked as he walked up to the stall opposite of his female compatriots, and turned on the shower, giving them a _very_ good view of his ass.

"While normally the press has a tendency to over-exaggerate military accomplishments, the fact remains that no previous Hive Infiltration – much less one carried out solely by Divers, has succeeded. That's not an opinion; it's fact. Therefore-"

"VG," Stella's soft voice interrupted him.

"What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?" Tarisa continued for her.

"Umm...showering?"

The two woman sighed. Shortly thereafter, a high-pitched yell could have been heard throughout Yukon.

Just a typical day of hard work. Well, all that was left for Argos to do were the training exercises with Soviet Union's Idar Flight.

Like that could ever go wrong, right?

* * *

There were three things that Tarisa Manadal learned today:

First: one of VG's testicles was indeed smaller than the other. Well, _was_; she and Stella rectified that irregularity.

Second: the Soviets were rude, and apparently considered handshakes as a Capitalist evil with a capital "E".

Third: the Soviets could not take a joke.

Addendum: Getting back at them with a classical "lock-on" scare _might_ have been a _little _over-the-top.

Addendum two: In retrospect, it was a very, _very_ stupid thing to do, and she should have listened to VG despite her "better judgement".

With these lessons learnt, Tarisa Manadal spent her afternoon squeezed into her seat, as the G-forces tried to mash her into pulp, while her F-15ACTV danced before a very pissed of Su-37 Terminator and its pilots.

* * *

_Struggle. Resist. Fight._

_Yes. All of it is meaningless. You are dead. You were dead to us from the moment we saw you._

They grinned as the enemy pilot desperately tried to evade their gun sights.

The colour of struggle was not as satisfying as that of despair, but it would have to do. For now, anyway.

"Yes!" They shouted in ecstasy, as the enemy pilot tried to climb away from them. "Struggle!"

They followed, and enemy tried to dodge them to the left. Their armed hand followed the movement. "Fight!"

The enemy attempted to dive to a lower altitude, and gain some extra speed as result. It was pitiful. They were so easy to read, for all their determination.

"The ugly colour of life! Show it to us!"

Like a bird of prey, the Terminator continued to follow. Even though it was just a machine, its pilots safety hidden inside its armoured innards, anyone watching it would be able to almost picture the killing intent that it radiated.

It was time for the hunt.

* * *

_Same time, somewhere within Yukon Demilitarized Zone_

Yuuya Bridges sighed, for what must have been hundredth time that day, as the passenger compartment of the UN-chartered An-225 swayed to the tune of his over-excited friend's tale.

"It's Yukon man!" Vincent shouted with much more emphasis then it was needed. "The verdant Alaska! Salmon catching! _Bear hunting_! Oh man, this will be so awesome-" Yuuya couldn't take it anymore.

"Vinny. Shut. Up." He uttered in a low, bass growl, cutting his best friend off in mid-sentence. Closing his mouth, the blonde only shook his head and sagged into his seat.

"Geez Yuuya, you're always such a stick in the mud." Vincent grumbled, to which Yuuya just shook his head in resignation, before rubbing the bridge of his nose. It has been a several hour flight under gravity conditions (something you'd notice after you begun to spent considerable amount of time in outer space, riding Space Shuttles), and Yuuya was getting sick of it.

"Am not. It's that you keep ranting about Alaska ever since we took off from God-dammn _Virginia_. At least change the topic once in a while!"

"Right, right." Vincent raised his arms a little defensively. "Well then, did you hear about the latest-" It was then that the cabin stopped gently swaying and sharply shook for several moments, much like a TSF under high acceleration. The two men looked around the cabin in confusion."Turbulence?" Vincent half-called, half-asked his partner. Yuuya shook his head – the tremor finished way too short. Could it be that the plane was...?

Yuuya didn't get to develop his thoughts, as the airplane lurched in another direction, and both US servicemen found themselves pressed against their seats for several seconds, before the plane levelled again.

_Yeah, definitely something wrong with the plane._

Not waiting for his friend, Yuuya buckled his safety harness and dashed into the cockpit. He wanted answers, and _fast_.

* * *

He walked in just in time to hear the pilot screaming into the radio with subtly-accented English.

"Control Tower, what the hell is going on! This airspace was supposed to be clear – and I have two TSFs on collision! Wave them off!" Yuuya's heart lurched. _"Did he say...collision!?_"

He couldn't see the pilot's face, but the frantic pitch of voice told him all he needed to know. "Control Tower, what do you mean, you can't!? What do you think this is, a Lancia Stratos!? I can't evade them if they keep changing their vectors every single damn second!"

It was at that point that flight engineer finally noticed the intruder. "Hey!" He hissed at him. "You shouldn't be here!" Yuuya looked at the man like he was crazy. Frankly, the present moment was the least suitable on keeping to the protocol. Brushing off the man, he pointed at his U.N chevrons, before authoritatively walking up to the control panel and yanking off the headset from the dazed co-pilot. _"I'm not dying in a fucking plane. I am NOT dying in a fucking airplane! That's just insulting."_

The man begun to shout, only to shut up under Yuuya's gaze. Concentrating, the young man listened in to the radio chatter while gazing ahead through cabin windows, trying to get a visual on the TSFs. The cacophony of shouts told him little, other than intermitten shouts of control and some young, panicked woman, who kept screaming in increasingly accented English that "_They were going to kill her." _Another voice broke in occasionally, transmitting the same phrase in some kind of odd, Slavic language. Yuuya couldn't understand it, but the words sounded too different or wrongly accented to be Polish or Czech. _That makes at least two crafts. Shit, if I only knew where..._ He briefly glanced at the radar screen, immediately spotting the two racing blips that zig-zagged right behind them, flying at more than risky speeds. Visualising their course, Yuuya's mind begun to work in an instant, acting with reflexes trained for years and honed by months of brutal combat.

_Between their speed and our drag, this bucket of bolts won't evade them. Never mind that if we change course, we might disorient them and still smash into one another...shit, we can't dive or climb either, because we're too slow..._ Yuuya's mind halted as he realized that there was _nothing_ he could do fast enough to save them – all he could hope that the presence of the airplane would force the two pilots into doge. _They_ could do it, the airplane couldn't.

He got it just in time as the pilot begun pulling on his stick. Yuuya instantly reached out to him, clasping his hand in an iron grip. "Don't!" he shouted, his brows sweating. "For the love of God, don't move!" The pilot froze in confusion as he stared at this apparent maniac beside him.

Seconds trickled past. Yuuya could swear that he could hear his own heartbeat as the two machines were now meters behind of them. _Oh Jesus H. Christ, if one of those Surfies fucks something up, we're dead. So, so very dead._

Luckily, God decided to be merciful today.

* * *

Spotting the airplane a second too late, Tarisa bit back a curse, as she climbed and reflexively pulled on the airbrake, cutting her boost moments later. The Active Eagle twisted in a tight turn as the Su-37 overshot it. Shoving her throttle open, Tarisa forced her TSFs engines into afterburner, creating a counter-force to stop her rotation. The TSF ground to a halt in mid-air, meters behind the cargo airplane, steadily climbing into the sky. Below her, the Scarlet Twins _finally_ noted the craft, and pulled into a tight nosedive. Tarisa, despite the gravity of the situation, allowed herself to smile as she resumed forward flight and flew past the titanic Antonov. She was finally able to get the high ground. Now, all that was left was for Scarlet Twins to rocket out from below the airplane and get their dates with bullets and...

"_The bloody hell did they go?" _Tarisa's eyes blinked as no Terminator emerged from below the plane, as if it was swallowed by the lumbering craft. There was no smoke or dust that would indicate the Scarlet Twins had crashed into the ground and killed themselves (which would have been the most pleasant outcome).

Suddenly, the lock-on alerts blared in the familiar(perhaps _too_ familiar) cacophony. Despite her experience, Tarisa froze in shock from the sudden surprise.

_This is not possible. This is not fucking physically possible!_

The Terminator was right behind her.

* * *

It was exhilarating.

They had to admit, the other pilot had lived up to her color – a dull, ugly gray of determination, like an unmovable boulder, or a rock. It was disgusting.

But in the end, it was meaningless. There was no one that could match them. No one they could call equal. Just as it should have been.

Their Terminator jumped into the sky, and they sneered in elation. There would be nowhere to run now.

"I guess..." Their voices were intertwined, the boundaries between their selves barely holding. "It is time for you to die." The machine lazily rose its arm, and the A-97 assault cannon roared with fire...

"_Inia, nyet!"_ A sharp shout. _Pain_, as the connection suddenly shattered. Where were they? And what had they done?

* * *

The assault cannon was loaded with practice rounds, but it barely changed a thing. The impacts rocked the Active Eagle, as it departed from controlled flight. A responsive pilot could have anticipated and counteracted the destabilising impacts, but Tarisa remained in shock, as the tree tops grew alarmingly close.

One impact was all it took.

The Active Eagle lost its balance, and bounced along the ground, squashing and snapping several trees. Tarisa desperately grappled with the controls, but it was too little, too late. Driven by sheer inertia and momentum, the Active smashed into a small hill, causing it to back flip around as it lurched over the hill and fell towards the landing strip, smashing into one of Yukon Base's several runaways with an audible "thud".

Yuuya barely noticed that however, still _mildly_ shaken from the fact that he was nearly, embarrassingly whacked out of the sky.

_Good God, if this is a normal day here, I don't want to know how Friday 13__th__ looks around here._

The two pilots, now visibly relaxing as they were no longer in immediate peril, begun excitingly chat between themselves, and their sudden saviour.

"You really pulled our asses from this one, Sir," The pilot happily told him.

"Yep! Guess what they said about you was true. You'll fit right in with Yukon." His co-pilot merrily agreed.

Yuuya merely nodded, as he eyed the visibly smoking crater down on the runaway. It was going to be a long assignment, that was for sure.

* * *

On Yuuya's insistence, his welcoming committee (a grand name for an overexcited Hispanic Second Lieutenant that looked like he was barely of highschool age) drove almost immediately towards the crash site.

Somewhat impressively, the Active Eagle was not a _total _wreck; parts of it even looked salvageable. Even more impressively, it managed to land on its back, which meant they wouldn't have to either dig in, or flip the TSF around to open it.

Cracking his knuckles, Vincent begun to climb on onto the TSF, despite the meek protests of their driver. The sirens of impending cavalcade of ambulance or fire vehicles were still several minutes away – enough that in the case the engines caught fire, all the rescue crews would be getting, would be one well-roasted Surface pilot.

Thanking whichever deity that let him wear his fatigues and flight jacket instead of Service Dress, Yuuya climbed across the dented surface of the mechanical golem, while Vincent fiddled with a small panel on the cockpit block's side. Thankfully, it seemed that the F-15ACTV's basic architecture wasn't too different from the Strike Eagle.

The cockpit unlocked with a hiss, and Yuuya leaned back, avoiding having his jaw severed by the frontal cockpit block as it slid forward. Grabbing onto a ledge, Yuuya pulled himself up, and looked down into the cockpit, hoping to asses any injuries that the pilot might have sustained. Or at least, that was the plan.

His head jerked back at the last second, as a dark-skinned blur climbed along the rails that held the frontal plate. The petite woman stood up, and barely took a breath, yelling on the absolute top of her lungs.

"You fucking, cocksucking, fatherless _cunts!_" The pitch of the voice was a tad too high, and Yuuya found himself using his spare hand to protect his valuable right ear. "You bloody Bolshevik whores! Twats! Fucking, bear-brained wankers! I'll find you and _kill you, you hear me! I'll rip off your arms and legs, then heads, and shite down your necks! I'll make a purse outta yer skin, buggers! You hear me! I'll get you for_ THIS!" Having apparently lost the imagination for further continuous cursing, the pilot threw out her right hand, and showed a pointed, elongated middle finger to the Terminator that lazily hung above the base. Only then did the woman; - or was it a young girl? – begun to loudly heave as her oxygen demand begun to outfight the adrenaline.

Yuuya politely coughed, as he finally removed the ear from his ear. "Hello there," he begun conversationally, while the girl turned to him, wide-eyed. "I was going to ask if you were okay, but given that energetic display of oratory skills, I'm going to assume that is the case. Now, if you'd be so kind, can we please get off this wreck before something has the courtesy to _explode?_"

* * *

Cold, hard, silvery eyes scanned the magnified image, as the hum of on-board generators helped to calm her nerves. The last strands of the _feelings_ she just had...they still lingered, like an odious smell around a carcass.

But Cryska couldn't show these emotions, or even grimace in displeasure. She had to be strong –determined and calm. Vivid emotions were unnecessary; they were only useful to sharpen her killing instinct, and nothing more. Like an unpleasant drug one had to take to keep on living. But it was a burden she accepted, for the sake of her motherland, and her partner.

"Idar-1 to base. Safety of UN pilot has been confirmed. Returning to base." She paused for a second, taking the soft, hitched breathing from the seat in front of her. "Requesting medical assistance upon return."

"Base to Idar-1, copy that. Medical personnel en route along with Comrade Lieutenant Sandek. Return immediately." She shut off the channel, knowing that no further unnecessary talk was expected. She turned her Terminator as ordered, flying back towards Soviet airspace.

The hitched breathing was now turning into crying.

"Shh, Inia ," Her voice was now soft. So very different from cold, impersonal tone that she was using just a moment ago. But even that was for the sake of this girl. "It's okay now Inia. Don't cry."

"But we're going to crash!" The younger girl cried out, her silver locks flowing as her head shook. "We will crash just like that other TSF!"

Cryska only chuckled. "Oh Inia." Her breath was soft, like a fairies' song. "We won't crash. Not while I'm protecting you. Not while we fly together." The crying stopped.

"We...we won't crash?"

"_Nyet_, Inia." Cryska Barchenowa genuinely smiled for the first time in weeks. "As long as we're together, we will never fall."

* * *

Yuuya tried to rest against his seat, and ignore the cold wind as their driver sped between different hangars. In the background, he could hear Vincent's excited talk with the driver as they exchanged latest technical details, as the driver was attempting to explain the gist of Project Prominence. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes; but then again, the kid probably had no idea that Yuuya already read all of this, thrice, in his mission briefing alone.

That said, the diversity Yukon Base had displayed was fairly spectacular, even if one discounted Vincent's exaggerated theatrics. In his overseas deployments, Yuuya would usually see three different kinds of foreign TSFs at most. Here, they had already drove past a flight of F-14Exs, a group of Mirage-2000s, and a parked, mixed squadron of two Chinese J-10xs, Swedish JAS-39 Grippens and the EU's F-5G Tornado. The base command wasn't kidding when they said that Yukon hosted just about every national force that was still developing new TSFs.

Their dark-skinned companion loudly sighed and threw her hands into the air all of a sudden. "Are TSFs that new to ya? Where did ya come from, the sticks or something?" Her voice reminded Yuuya of a small, nasty dog, however inappropriate that might have seemed; completely at odds with her cute looks, which meshed naturally with her lithe and supple form.

Vincent lowered his binoculars and smirked, the apparent insult flying completely above him. "Well." He begun, confidently stroking his chin. "I suppose, Langley, Virginia isn't the most well-known American place. I mean, the biggest TSF base in the country and CIA headquarters are pretty small-time, right?" The woman shrugged, but didn't seem to be giving up.

"America's biggest circus maybe." She lazily turned around to look directly at Yuuya. "And what about- Hey!" She shouted suddenly, and Yuuya looked up directly into her face. In the second he did that, the woman – or was she still a girl? – managed to twist herself out of safety belt, kneel up on the front seat and stare directly at him."Those wings – you a Pilot?"

"Yeah," Yuuya answered neutrally as he studied her. She was definitely young – though weeks spent in European or African camps had redefined his idea about which age was appropriate for soldiering. Her skin tone was definitely different from an African, which coupled with her more Caucasian features, meant that she was mostly likely from India or Pakistan, or some other Himalayan state. _Interesting. 8 times out of 10, Eagle pilots tend to be from former NATO or US allies._ She had a short, chocolate bush of hair, and sharp, purple eyes. She was rather lithe, but remembering her standing on the Active Eagle, Yuuya had to say that she had a _great_ pair of legs, despite her rather short statue. Meanwhile, Vincent almost naturally took back the conversation, as he leaned on Yuuya's arm in vaguely conspiratorial kind of way.

"Sure he is. In fact, if he didn't burst into that Antonov's cockpit when he did, we would all go "Poof!" Just like that!" He snapped his fingers, while the girls eyes widened in recognition."

"You were the one on that plane? The one that dodged us!?"

"Which _you_ dodged," Yuuya promptly added. It wasn't like he was trying to weasel into her good graces (those legs could wait), but it _was_ the truth. And Yuuya knew from professional standpoint that every pilot needed a little bit of encouragement after having their asses handed to them. _Especially _when those asses were connected to a _great_ pair of legs. "It's not like I could have done anything more with that whale. All I did was to keep the actual pilots from making a colossal mistake; you did the rest."

The woman first blinked, obviously unused to being praised in such a manner, before smiling smugly, and plopping back onto her seat. "Yeah, see that hick?" She turned halfway to Vincent. "You should respect your betters!"

Ignoring the remark, Yuuya decided to speak his mind. "Speaking of which, what about the pilot of that Terminator?" _Ouch. Should have phrased that differently._

The girl sank in her seat, while crossing her arms in a vaguely defensive posture. "Those were the Scarlet Twins. One of the best around here, or so they say. The Soviets' top aces." Her voice had the temperature of liquid nitrogen. "If you think about going after them, get it outta yer 'ead. Those two punks are _mine._"

This time, Yuuya groaned. He should have resisted some more when agreeing to this. He really should have.

It was probably too late to go back to Langley, wasn't it?

CHAPTER END

* * *

**Author's Note:** More delays. I know, I know. But at least I had a legit reason, composed of final university exams and a move, and that takes a lot of time in a country that loves its bureaucracy and socialism. But I digress.

Some of the people who read this fic probably already know the specifics of the Total Eclipse debacle, so I will not waste your time trying to repeat what I already stated several times, across several sites. In short, the VN's latter part sucks, and that's that. It also confirms my (unfortunate) suspicious that age would rather be assholes for asshole sake, rather than conclude their works on normal note, which makes me worried for TDA and Schwarz. Here's to hoping that age's board manages to lock itself in it's meeting room and never comes out.

Back on topic however, I'm pleased to announce that Muv-Luv Comet will be ending on a very different note than "canon" does. So you can rest easy now.

Anyway, we're finally to the "proper" Comet, which is set in Yukon. I was originally planning to make a filler chapter between the two, but frankly, I was just getting impatient. So what I did instead is to create a time-skip, and instead add various faux-news pieces to the next chapters, which will flesh out a couple of things as we go along; particularly in regards to Crucible's conclusion. Speaking of which, many thanks to Goose (_again_), for writing two of these articles, and proof-reading the other two.

Well, that would be it, I think. I'm really excited now, partially because I'm getting towards the parts I really want to do, and partially because Prominence people don't speak completely perfect English, which allows me to get away with more ;D

Oh, and yes, I basically replaced "Eishi" with "Surface Pilot" and "Surfie" most of the time; that's because Eishi is a very Japanese term, and I simply cannot picture anyone but Yui using it - there's literally no reason for people like Tarisa or VG to use or even know it, especially when we consider that TSF is an American invention. Lexicon is also being reworked, so no new update to it for now.

Until next time,

AMT


End file.
